J 

-3 


SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER 


A  COMEDY 

BY 

OLIVER    GOLDSMITH 


-  v«^  ~        ^A 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  IN  COLOR 
FROM  ORIGINAL  DRAWINGS  BY 
FREDERICK  SIMPSON  COBURN 


GP  PUTNAM'S    SONS 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 

Cheftnicherbocher  Press 


* 


SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER 

OR 

THE  MISTAKES  OF  A  NIGHT 
A  COMEDY 


London:  Printed  for  F.  Newbery,  in  St.  Paul's  Church-yard,  1773- 
8vo.     Price  is.  &/. 


iii 


282473 


h.  "\ 


She  Stoops  to  Conquer;  or,  the  Mistakes  of  a  Night,  a  Comedy, 
was  acted  for  the  first  time  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre  (then 
under  the  management  of  the  elder  Colman),  on  the  isth  of 
March,  1773,  and  ran  twelve  nights,  the  theatre  closing  for  the 
season  with  it  on  the  3ist  of  May.  The  leading  incident  of  the 
piece,  the  mistaking  a  gentleman's  house  for  an  inn,  is  said  to 
have  been  borrowed  from  a  blunder  of  the  author  himself, 
while  travelling  to  school  at  Edgeworthstown.  Its  first  MS. 
title  was  The  Old  House  a  New  Inn,  but  this  was  soon 
rejected.  The  title,  it  is  suggested  (Forster  ii.  374),  may 
have  originated  in  one  of  Dryden's  well-known  couplets : — 

"The  prostrate  loon,  when  he  lowest  lies, 
But  kneels  to  conquer,  and  but  stoops  to  rise." 


TO 

SAMUEL  JOHNSON,  LL.D. 

DEAR  SIR, 

By  inscribing  this  slight  performance  to  you,  I 
do  not  mean  so  much  to  compliment  you  as  myself. 
It  may  do  me  some  honour  to  inform  the  public,  that 
I  have  lived  many  years  in  intimacy  with  you.  It  may 
serve  the  interests  of  mankind  also  to  inform  them, 
that  the  greatest  wit  may  be  found  in  a  character, 
without  impairing  the  most  unaffected  piety. 

I  have,  particularly,  reason  to  thank  you  for  your 
partiality  to  this  performance.  The  undertaking  a 
comedy,  not  merely  sentimental,  was  very  dangerous;1 
and  Mr.  Colman,  who  saw  this  piece  in  its  various 
stages,  always  thought  it  so.  However,  I  ventured  to 
trust  it  to  the  public;  and,  though  it  was  necessarily 
delayed  till  late  in  the  season,  I  have  every  reason  to 
be  grateful. 

I  am,  dear  Sir, 
Your  most  sincere  friend 

And  admirer, 
OLIVER  GOLDSMITH. 


1  "With  Steele  the  unlucky  notion  began  of  setting  Comedy  to 
reform  the  morals  instead  of  imitating  the  manners  of  the  age. 
Fielding  slily  glances  at  this,  when  he  makes  Parson  Adams 
declare,  The  Conscious  Lovers  to  be  the  only  play  fit  for  a  Christian 
to  see,  and  as  good  as  a  sermon." — FORSTER'S  Goldsmith,  vol.  ii., 
p.  116. 

vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGB 

Miss  Hardcastle. — "  Was   there  ever  such  a 
sober,  sentimental  interview?"    .        Frontispiece 

Tony. — "Here's  a  health  to  the  Three  Jolly      18 
Pigeons."  .         .         .  .    ,     . 

Hastings. — "  Thou  dear  dissembler."  .  .  42 
Miss  Hardcastle. — "Did  you  call,  sir?"  .  72 
Marlow. — "And  why  not  now,  my  angel?"  go 


PROLOGUE 

BY 
DAVID  GARRICK,  ESQ. 

Enter  MR.  WOODWARD,  1  dressed  in  black,  and  holding  a 
handkerchief  to  his  eyes. 

EXCUSE  me,  Sirs,  I  pray — I  can't  yet  speak — 
I'm  crying  now — and  have  been  all  the  week. 
;  Tis  not  alone  this  mourning  suit,"  good  masters: 
"I've  that  within" — for  which  there  are  no  plasters! 
Pray,  would  you  know  the  reason  why  I'm  crying? 
The  Comic  Muse,  long  sick,  is  now  a-dying! 
And  if  she  goes,  my  tears  will  never  stop; 
For  as  a  player,  I  can't  squeeze  out  one  drop: 
I  am  undone,  that's  all — shall  lose  my  bread — 
I'd  rather,  but  that's  nothing — lose  my  head. 
When  the  sweet  maid  is  laid  upon  the  bier, 
Shuter  and  I  shall  be  chief  mourners  here. 
To  her  a  mawkish  drab  of  spurious  breed, 

1  Woodward  (who  had  no  part  in  the  play)  was  a  good  actor. 
He  died  April  17,  1777.  There  is  a  clever  full-length  engraving  of 
him  by  M'Ardell,  as  the  Fine  Gentleman,  in  Lethe;  also  a  good  half- 
length  of  him  by  J.  R.  Smith,  as  Petruchio.  His  portrait  by  Sir 
Joshua  is  at  Petworth. 

xi 


xii  prologue 

Who  deals  in  sentimentals,  will  succeed! 
Poor  Ned  and  I  are  dead  to  all  intents ; 
We  can  as  soon  speak  Greek  as  sentiments! 
Both  nervous  grown,  to  keep  our  spirits  up, 
We  now  and  then  take  down  a  hearty  cup. 
What  shall  we  do?     If  Comedy  forsake  us, 
They'll  turn  us  out,  and  no  one  else  will  take  us. 
But,  why  can't  I  be  moral? — Let  me  try — 
My  heart  thus  pressing — fix'd  my  face  and  eye — 
With  a  sententious  look,  that  nothing  means, 
(Faces  are  blocks  in  sentimental  scenes) 
Thus  I  begin— "All  is  not  gold  that  glitters, 
Pleasure  seems  sweet,  but  proves  a  glass  of  bitters. 
When  Ignorance  enters,  Folly  is  at  hand: 
Learning  is  better  far  than  house  and  land. 
Let  not  your  virtue  trip ;  who  trips  may  stumble, 
And  virtue  is  not  virtue,  if  she  tumble." 

I  give  it  up — morals  won't  do  for  me ; 

To  make  you  laugh,  I  must  play  tragedy. 

One  hope  remains — hearing  the  maid  was  ill, 

A  Doctor  comes  this  night  to  show  his  skill. 

To  cheer  her  heart,  and  give  your  muscles  motion, 

He,  in  Five  Draughts  prepar'd,  presents  a  potion: 

A  kind  of  magic  charm — for  be  assur'd, 

If  you  will  swallow  it,  the  maid  is  cur'd : 

But  desperate  the  Doctor,  and  her  case  is, 

If  you  reject  the  dose,  and  make  wry  faces! 

This  truth  he  boasts,  will  boast  it  while  he  lives, 


prologue 

No  poisonous  drugs  are  mix'd  in  what  he  gives. 
Should  he  succeed,  you'll  give  him  his  degree; 
If  not,  within  he  will  receive  no  fee! 
The  College  you,  must  his  pretensions  back, 
Pronounce  him  Regular,  or  dub  him  Quack . 


Xlll 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS 
MEN. 

SIR  CHARLES  MARLOW    .         .  Mr.  Gardner. 

YOUNG  MARLOW  (his  Son)       .         .  Mr.  Lee  Lewes. l 

HARDCASTLE          .         .         .         .  Mr.  Shuter. 

HASTINGS Mr.  Dubellamy. 

TONY  LUMPKIN      .  .         .  Mr.  Quick. 

DIGGORY Mr.  Saunders. 

WOMEN. 

MRS.  HARDCASTLE.         .         .         .  Mrs.  Green. 

Miss  HARDCASTLE  .         .         .  Mrs.  Bulkley. 

Miss  NEVILLE        ....  Mrs.  Kniveton. 

MAID    ......  Miss  Williams. 

Landlord,  Servants,  etc.,  etc. 


1  Smith  and  Woodward,  who  were  designed  to  play  Young 
Marlow  and  Tony  Lumpkin,  threw  up  their  parts.  To  this  unlocked 
for  and  unnecessary  resignation  Lee  Lewes  and  Quick  owed  much 
of  their  early  celebrity. 


SHE  STOOPS  TO  CONQUER 

OR 

THE  MISTAKES  OF  A  NIGHT 

ACT  THE  FIRST 

SCENE — A  Chamber  in  an  old-fashioned  House. 
Enter  MRS.  Hf  RDCASTLE  and  MR.  HARDCASTLE. 

Mrs.  Hard.  I  vow,  Mr.  Hardcastle,  you  're  very 
particular.  Is  there  a  creature  in  the  whole 
country  but  ourselves,  that  does  not  take  a  trip 
to  town  now  and  then,  to  rub  off  the  rust  a  little?  \ 
There  's  the  two  Miss  Hoggs,  and  our  neighbour 
Mrs.  Grigsby,  go  to  take  a  month's  polishing  every 
winter. 

Hard.  Ay,  and  bring  back  vanity  and  affecta- 
tion to  last  them  the  whole  year.  I  wonder  why 
London  cannot  keep  its  own  fools  at  home.  In 
my  time,  the  follies  of  the  town  crept  slowly  among 
us,  but  now  they  travel  faster  than  a  stage-coach. 
Its  fopperies  come  down  not  only  as  inside  passen- 
gers, but  in  the  very  basket. 

3 


4  Sbe  Stoop0  to  Conquer 

Mrs.  Hard.  Ay,  your  times  were  fine  times  in- 
deed; you  have  been  telling  us  of  them  for  many  a 
long  year.  Here  we  live  in  an  old  rumbling  man- 
sion, that  looks  for  all  the  world  like  an  inn,  but 
that  we  never  see  company.  Our  best  visitors  are 
old  Mrs.  Oddfish,  the  curate's  wife,  and  little  Crip- 
plegate,  the  lame  dancing-master;  and  all  our 
entertainment  your  old  stories  of  Prince  Eugene 
and  the  Duke  of  Marlborough.  I  hate  such  old- 
fashioned  trumpery. 

Hard.  And  I  love  it.  I  love  everything  that 's 
old:  old  friends,  old  times,  old  manners,  old  books, 
old  wine;  and  I  believe,  Dorothy  (taking  her  hand), 
you  '11  own  I  have  been  pretty  fond  of  an  old 
wife. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Lord,  Mr.  Hardcastle,  you  're  for 
ever  at  your  Dorothy's  and  your  old  wifes.  You 
may  be  a  Darby  but  I  '11  be  no  Joan,  I  promise  you. 
I  'm  not  so  old  as  you  'd  make  me,  by  more  than 
one  good  year.  Add  twenty  to  twenty,  and  make 
money  of  that. 

Hard.  Let  me  see;  twenty  added  to  twenty 
makes  just  fifty  and  seven. 

Mrs.  Hard.  It 's  false,  Mr.  Hardcastle;  I  was 
but  twenty  when  I  was  brought  to  bed  of  Tony, 
that  I  had  by  Mr.  Lumpkin,  my  first  husband; 
and  he  's  not  come  to  years  of  discretion  yet. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  5 

Hard.  Nor  ever  will,  I  dare  answer  for  him. 
Ay,  you  have  taught  him  finely. 

Mrs.  Hard.  No  matter.  Tony  Lumpkin  has 
a  good  fortune.  My  son  is  not  to  live  by  his  learn- 
ing. I  don't  think  a  boy  wants  much  learning  to 
spend  fifteen  hundred  a-year. 

Hard.  Learning,  quotha!  a  mere  composition 
of  tricks  and  mischief. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Humour,  my  dear;  nothing  but 
humour.  Come,  Mr.  Hardcastle,  you  must  allow 
the  boy  a  little  humour. 

Hard.  I  'd  sooner  allow  him  a  horse-pond.  If 
burning  the  footmen's  shoes,  frighting  the  maids, 
and  worrying  the  kittens  be  humour,  he  has  it.  It 
was  but  yesterday  he  fastened  my  wig  to  the  back 
of  my  chair,  and  when  I  went  to  make  a  bow,  I  / 
popt  my  bald  head  in  Mrs.  Frizzle's  face.1 

Mrs.  Hard.  And  am  I  to  blame?  The  poor 
boy  was  always  too  sickly  to  do  any  good.  A 
school  would  be  his  death.  When  he  comes  to 
be  a  little  stronger,  who  knows  what  a  year  or 
two's  Latin  may  do  for  him? 

Hard.  Latin  for  him!  A  cat  and  fiddle.  No, 
no;  the  alehouse  and  the  stable  are  the  only  schools 
he  '11  ever  go  to. 

1  This  incident  was  but  the  counterpart  of  a  trick  played  upon 
Goldsmith  himself,  during  his  last  visit  to  Gosfield,  by  the  daughter 
of  Lord  Clare. 


6  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Mrs.  Hard.  Well,  we  must  not  snub  the  poor 
boy  now,  for  I  believe  we  shan't  have  him  long 
among  us.  Any  body  that  looks  in  his  face  may 
see  that  he  's  consumptive. 

Hard.  Ay,  if  growing  too  fat  be  one  of  the 
symptoms. 

Mrs.  Hard.     He  coughs  sometimes. 

Hard.     Yes,  when  his  liquor  goes  the  wrong  way. 

Mrs.  Hard.     I  'm  actually  afraid  of  his  lungs. 

Hard.  And  truly  so  am  I;  for  he  sometimes 
whoops  like  a  speaking-trumpet — (TONY  hallooing 
behind  the  scenes). —  O,  there  he  goes — a  very 
consumptive  figure,  truly. 

Enter  TONY,  crossing  the  stage. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Tony,  where  are  you  going,  my 
charmer?  Won't  you  give  papa  and  I  a  little  of 
your  company,  lovee  ? 

Tony.     I  'm  in  haste  mother,  I  cannot  stay. 

Mrs.  Hard.  You  shan  't  venture  out  this  raw 
evening,  my  dear;  you  look  most  shockingly. 

Tony.  I  can't  stay,  I  tell  you.  The  Three 
Pigeons  expects  me  down  every  moment.  There  's 
some  fun  going  forward. 

Hard.  Ay;  the  alehouse,  the  old  place;  I 
thought  so. 

Mrs.  Hard.    A  low,  paltry  set  of  fellows. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  7 

Tony.  Not  so  low,  neither.  There 's  Dick 
Muggins  the  exciseman,  Jack  Slang  the  horse 
doctor,  little  Aminadab  that  grinds  the  music- 
box,  and  Tom  Twist  that  spins  the  pewter  platter. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Pray,  my  dear,  disappoint  them 
for  one  night  at  least. 

Tony.  As  for  disappointing  them,  I  should  not 
so  much  mind;  but  I  can't  abide  to  disappoint 
myself. 

Mrs.  Hard.     (Detaining  him.)     You  shan't  go. 

Tony.     I  will,  I  tell  you. 

Mrs.  Hard.     I  say  you  shan't.         .  ^, 

Tony.  We  '11  see  which  is  strongest,  you  or  I. 

[Exit,  hauling  her  out. 

Hard.  (Solus.)  Ay,  there  goes  a  pair  that  only 
spoil  each  other.  But  is  not  the  whole  age  in  a 
combination  to  drive  sense  and  discretion  out  of 
doors?  There  's  my  pretty  darling  Kate!  the 
fashions  of  the  times  have  almost  infected  her  too. 
By  living  a  year  or  two  in  town,  she  's  as  fond 
of  gauze  and  French  frippery  as  the  best  of  them. 

Enter  Miss  HARDCASTLB. 

Hard.  Blessings  on  my  pretty  innocence!  drest 
out  as  usual,  my  Kate.  Goodness!  What  a  quan- 
tity of  superfluous  silk  hast  thou  got  about  thee, 
girl!  I  could  never  teach  the  fools  of  this  age,  that 


8  Sbe  Stoopa  to  Conquer 

the  indigent  world  could  be  clothed  out  of  the 
trimmings  of  the  vain. 

Miss  Hard.  You  know  our  agreement,  Sir. 
You  allow  me  the  morning  to  receive  and  pay 
visits,  and  to  dress  in  my  own  manner;  and  in  the 
evening  I  put  on  my  housewife's  dress  to  please 
you. 

Hard.  Well,  remember,  I  insist  on  the  terms 
of  our  agreement;  and,  by  the  bye,  I  believe  I  shall 
have  occasion  to  try  your  obedience  this  very 
evening. 

Miss  Hard.  I  protest,  Sir,  I  don't  comprehend 
your  meaning. 

Hard.  Then  to  be  plain  with  you,  Kate,  I  ex- 
pect the  young  gentleman  I  have  chosen  to  be  your 
husband  from  town  this  very  day.  I  have  his 
father's  letter,  in  which  he  informs  me  his  son  is 
set  out,  and  that  he  intends  to  follow  himself 
shortly  after. 

Miss  Hard.  Indeed!  I  wish  I  had  known 
something  of  this  before.  Bless  me,  how  shall  I 
behave?  It 's  a  thousand  to  one  I  shan't  like 
him;  our  meeting  will  be  so  formal,  and  so  like  a 
thing  of  business,  that  I  shall  find  no  room  for 
friendship  or  esteem. 

Hard.  Depend  upon  it,  child,  I  '11  never  control 
your  choice;  but  Mr.  Marlow,  whom  I  have  pitched 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  9 

upon,  is  the  son  of  my  old  friend,  Sir  Charles  Mar- 
low,  of  whom  you  have  heard  me  talk  so  often. 
The  young  gentleman  has  been  bred  a  scholar, 
and  is  designed  for  an  employment  in  the  service 
of  his  country.  I  am  told  he  's  a  man  of  excellent 
understanding. 

Miss  Hard.     Is  he? 

Hard.     Very  generous. 

Miss  Hard.     I  believe  I  shall  like  him. 

Hard.     Young  and  brave. 

Miss  Hard.     I  'm  sure  I  shall  like  him. 

Hard.    And  very  handsome. 

Miss  Hard.  My  dear  papa,  say  no  more  (kiss- 
ing his  hand),  he  's  mine;  1 11  have  him. 

Hard.  And,  to  crown  all,  Kate,  he  's  one  of 
the  most  bashful  and  reserved  young  fellows  in 
all  the  world. 

Miss  Hard.  Eh!  you  have  frozen  me  to  death 
again.  That  word  reserved  has  undone  all 
the  rest  of  his  accomplishments.  A  reserved 
lover,  it  is  said,  always  makes  a  suspicious 
husband. 

Hard.  On  the  contrary,  modesty  seldom  re- 
sides in  a  breast  that  is  not  enriched  with  nobler 
virtues.  It  was  the  very  feature  in  his  character 
that  first  struck  me. 

Miss   Hard.     He   must     have   more     striking 


io  gbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

features  to  catch  me,  I  promise  you.  However,  if 
he  be  so  young,  so  handsome,  and  so  everything  as 
you  mention,  I  believe  he  '11  do  still.  I  think  I  11 
have  him. 

Hard.  Ay,  Kate,  but  there  is  still  an  obstacle. 
It 's  more  than  an  even  wager  he  may  not  have 
you. 

Miss  Hard.  My  dear  papa,  why  will  you  mor- 
tify one  so  ?  Well,  if  he  refuses,  instead  of  break- 
ing my  heart  at  his  indifference,  I  '11  only  break 
my  glass  for  its  flattery,  set  my  cap  to  some 
newer  fashion,  and  look  out  for  some  less  difficult 
admirer. 

Hard.  Bravely  resolved!  In  the  mean  time 
I  11  go  prepare  the  servants  for  his  reception:  as 
we  seldom  see  company,  they  want  as  much  train- 
ing as  a  company  of  recruits  the  first  day's  muster. 

[Exit. 

Miss  Hard.  (Alone.)  Lud,  this  news  of  papa's 
puts  me  all  in  a  flutter.  Young,  handsome;  these 
he  put  last;  but  I  put  them  foremost.  Sensible, 
good-natured;  I  like  all  that.  But  then  reserved 
and  sheepish,  that 's  much  against  him.  Yet 
can't  he  be  cured  of  his  timidity,  by  being  taught 
to  be  proud  of  his  wife?  Yes;  and  can  't  I — But 
I  vow  I  'm  disposing  of  the  husband  before  I 
have  secured  the  lover. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  1 1 

Enter  Miss  NEVILLE. 

Miss  Hard.  I  'm  glad  you  're  come,  Neville,  my 
dear.  Tell  me,  Constance,  how  do  I  look  this  even- 
ing? Is  there  any  thing  whimsical  about  me  ?  Is 
it  one  of  my  well-looking  days,  child?  Am  I  in 
face  to-day? 

Miss  Nev.  Perfectly,  my  dear.  Yet  now  I 
look  again — bless  me!  sure  no  accident  has  hap- 
pened among  the  canary  birds  or  the  gold  fishes! 
Has  your  brother  or  the  cat  been  meddling?  or  has 
the  last  novel  been  too  moving? 

Miss  Hard.  No;  nothing  of  all  this.  I  have 
been  threatened — I  can  scarce  get  it  out — I  have 
been  threatened  with  a  lover. 

Miss  Nev.     And  his  name — 

Miss  Hard.     Is  Marlow. 

Miss  Nev.     Indeed! 

Miss  Hard.     The  son  of  Sir  Charles  Marlow. 

Miss  Nev.  As  I  live,  the  most  intimate  friend 
of  Mr.  Hastings,  my  admirer.  They  are  never 
asunder.  I  believe  you  must  have  seen  him  when 
we  lived  in  town. 

Miss  Hard.     Never. 

Miss  Nev.  He  's  a  very  singular  character,  I 
assure  you.  Among  women  of  reputation  and 
virtue  he  is  the  modestest  man  alive;  but  his 
acquaintance  give  him  a  very  different  character 


12  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

among  creatures  of  another  stamp:  you  understand 
me. 

Miss  Hard.  An  odd  character  indeed.  I  shall 
never  be  able  to  manage  him.  What  shall  I  do? 
Pshaw,  think  no  more  of  him,  but  trust  to  occur- 
rences for  success.  But  how  goes  on  your  own 
affair,  my  dear?  has  my  mother  been  courting  you 
for  my  brother  Tony  as  usual? 

Miss  Nev.  I  have  just  come  from  one  of  our 
agreeable  tete-a-tetes.  She  has  been  saying  a  hund- 
red tender  things,  and  setting  off  her  pretty 
monster  as  the  very  pink  of  perfection. 

Miss  Hard.  And  her  partiality  is  such,  that 
she  actually  thinks  him  so.  A  fortune  like  yours 
is  no  small  temptation.  Besides,  as  she  has  the 
sole  management  of  it,  I  'm  not  surprised  to  see 
her  unwilling  to  let  it  go  out  of  the  family. 

Miss  Nev.  A  fortune  like  mine,  which  chiefly 
consists  in  jewels,  is  no  such  mighty  temptation. 
But  at  any  rate,  if  my  dear  Hastings  be  but  con- 
stant, I  make  no  doubt  to  be  too  hard  for  her  at 
last.  However,  I  let  her  suppose  that  I  am  in  love 
with  her  son;  and  she  never  once  dreams  that  my 
affections  are  fixed  upon  another. 

Miss  Hard.  My  good  brother  holds  out  stoutly. 
I  could  almost  love  him  for  hating  you  so. 

Miss  Nev.     It  is  a  good-natured  creature  at 


Sbe  Stoopa  to  Conquer  13 

bottom,  and  I  'm  sure  would  wish  to  see  me  mar- 
ried to  any  body  but  himself.  But  my  aunt's  bell 
rings  for  our  afternoon's  walk  round  the  improve- 
ments. Allans!  Courage  is  necessary,  as  our 
affairs  are  critical. 

Miss  Hard.  "  Would  it  were  bed-time,  and  all 
were  well."  [Exeunt. 

SCENE — An  Alehouse  Room. 

Several  shabby  Fellows  with  punch  and  tobacco.  TONY  at 
the  head  of  the  table,  a  little  higher  than  the  rest,  a  mallet 
in  his  hand. 

Omnes.     Hurrea!  hurrea!  hurrea!  bravo! 

First  Fellow.  Now,  gentlemen,  silence  for  a  song. 
The  'Squire  is  going  to  knock  himself  down  for  a 
song. 

Omnes.     Ay,  a  song,  a  song! 

Tony.  Then  I  '11  sing  you,  gentlemen,  a  song  I 
made  upon  this  alehouse,  the  Three  Pigeons. 

SONG. 

Let  schoolmasters  puzzle  their  brain, 

With  grammar,  and  nonsense,  and  learning, 

Good  liquor,  I  stoutly  maintain, 
Gives  genus  a  better  discerning. 

Let  them  brag  of  their  heathenish  gods, 
Their  Lethes,  their  Styxes,  and  Stygians, 

Their  Quis,  and  their  Quses,  and  their  Quods, 


14  Sbe  Stoopa  to  Conquer 

They  're  all  but  a  parcel  of  Pigeons. 

Toroddle,  toroddle,  toroll. 

When  Methodist  preachers  come  down, 

A-preaching  that  drinking  is  sinful, 
1 11  wager  the  rascals  a  crown, 

They  always  preach  best  with  a  skinful. 
But  when  you  come  down  with  your  pence, 

For  a  slice  of  their  scurvy  religion, 
I  '11  leave  it  to  all  men  of  sense, 

But  you,  my  good  friend,  are  the  Pigeon. 

Toroddle,  toroddle,  toroll. 

Then  come,  put  the  jorum  about, 

And  let  us  be  merry  and  clever, 
Our  hearts  and  our  liquors  are  stout, 

Here's  the  Three  Jolly  Pigeons  for  ever. 
Let  some  cry  up  woodcock  or  hare, 

Your  bustards,  your  ducks,  and  your  widgeons; 
But  of  all  the  gay  birds  in  the  air, 

Here  's  a  health  to  the  Three  Jolly  Pigeons. 

Toroddle,  toroddle,  toroll. 1 

Omnes.     Bravo,  bravo! 

First  Fellow.     The  'Squire  has  got  spunk  in  him. 
Sec.  Fellow.     I  loves  to  hear  him  sing,  bekeays 
he  never  gives  us  nothing  that 's  low. 

1  "  We  drank  tea  with  the  ladies  [after  a  dinner  at  General  Ogle- 
thorpe's]  and  Goldsmith  sang  Tony  Lumpkin's  song  in  his  comedy, 
She  Stoops  to  Conquer. — BOSWELL  by  CROKER,  p.  251. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  15 

Third  Fellow.  O  damn  any  thing  that 's  low, 
I  cannot  bear  it.1 

Fourth  Fellow.  The  genteel  thing  is  the  genteel 
thing  any  time:  if  so  be  that  a  gentleman  bees  in 
a  concatenation  accordingly.  . 

Third  Fellow.  I  like  the  maxum  of  it,  Master 
Muggins.  What,  though  I  'm  obligated  to  dance 
a  bear,  a  man  may  be  a  gentleman  for  all  that. 
May  this  be  my  poison,2  if  my  bear  ever  dances  but 
to  the  very  genteelest  of  tunes;  "  Water  Parted," 
or  "The  Minuet  in  Ariadne." 

Sec.  Fellow.  What  a  pity  it  is  the  'Squire  is  not 
come  to  his  own.  It  would  be  well  for  all  the  pub- 
licans within  ten  miles  round  of  him. 

Tony.  Ecod,  and  so  it  would,  Master  Slang.  I  'd 
then  show  what  it  was  to  keep  choice  of  company. 

Sec.  Fellow.  O,  he  takes  after  his  own  father 
for  that.  To  be  sure  old  'Squire  Lumpkin  was 
the  finest  gentleman  I  ever  set  my  eyes  on.  For 
winding  the  straight  horn,  or  beating  a  thicket 
for  a  hare,  or  a  wench,  he  never  had  his  fellow.  It 
was  a  saying  in  the  place,  that  he  kept  the  best 
horses,  dogs,  and  girls,  in  the  whole  county. 

Tony.  Ecod,  and  when  I  'm  of  age,  1 11  be  no 
bastard,  I  promise  you. .  I  have  been  thinking  of 


1  See  these  low  allusions  explained  in  Forster's  Goldsmith,  ii.,  121. 

2  See  Vol.  I.,  p.  8 1,  note  2. 


1 6  gbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Bet  Bouncer  and  the  miller's  grey  mare  to  begin 
with.  But  come,  my  boys,  drink  about  and  be 
merry,  for  you  pay  no  reckoning.  Well,  Stingo, 
what 's  the  matter? 

Enter  Landlord. 

Land.  There  be  two  gentlemen  in  a  post-chaise 
at  the  door.  They  have  lost  their  way  upo'  the 
forest;  and  they  are  talking  something  about  Mr. 
Hardcastle. 

Tony.  As  sure  as  can  be,  one  of  them  must  be 
the  gentleman  that 's  coming  down  to  court  my 
sister.  Do  they  seem  to  be  Londoners? 

Land.  I  believe  they  may.  They  look  wound- 
ily  like  Frenchmen. 

Tony.  Then  desire  them  to  step  this  way,  and 
I  '11  set  them  right  in  a  twinkling.  (Exit  Landlord.) 
Gentlemen,  as  they  may  n't  be  good  enough  com- 
pany for  you,  step  down  for  a  moment,  and  I  '11  be 
with  you  in  the  squeezing  of  a  lemon. 

[Exeunt  mob. 

Tony.  (Sofas.)  Father-in-law  has  been  calling 
me  whelp  and  hound  this  half-year.  Now  if  I 
pleased,  I  could  be  so  revenged  upon  the  old  grum- 
bletonian.  But  then  I  'm  afraid — afraid  of  what? 
I  shall  soon  be  worth  fifteen  hundred  a-year,  and 
let  him  frighten  me  out  of  that  if  he  can. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  1 7 

Enter  Landlord,  conducting  MARLOW  and  HASTINGS. 

Marl.  What  a  tedious  uncomfortable  day  have 
we  had  of  it!  We  were  told  it  was  but  forty  miles 
across  the  country,  and  we  have  come  above 
threescore. 

Hast.  And  all,  Marlow,  from  that  unaccount- 
able reserve  of  yours,  that  would  not  let  us  inquire 
more  frequently  on  the  way. 

Marl.  I  own,  Hastings,  I  am  unwilling  to  lay 
myself  under  an  obligation  to  every  one  I  meet, 
and  often  stand  the  chance  of  an  unmannerly 
answer. 

Hast.  At  present,  however,  we  are  not  likely  to 
receive  any  answer. 

Tony.  No  offence,  gentlemen.  But  I  'm  told 
you  have  been  inquiring  for  one  Mr.  Hardcastle, 
in  these  parts.  Do  you  know  what  part  of  the 
country  you  are  in? 

Hast.  Not  in  the  least,  Sir,  but  should  thank 
you  for  information. 

Tony.     Nor  the  way  you  came? 

Hast.     No,  Sir;  but  if  you  can  inform  us 

Tony.  Why,  gentlemen,  if  you  know  neither 
the  road  you  are  going,  nor  where  you  are,  nor  the 
road  you  came,  the  first  thing  I  have  to  inform 
you  is,  that — you  have  lost  your  way. 

Marl.     We  wanted  no  ghost  to  tell  us  that. 


1 8  ©be  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Tony.  Pray,  gentlemen,  may  I  be  so  bold  as 
to  ask  the  place  from  whence  you  came? 

Marl.  That 's  not  necessary  towards  directing 
us  where  we  are  to  go. 

0  Tony.    No  offence;  but  question  for  question 

is  all  fair,  you  know. — Pray,  gentlemen,  is  not 
this  same  Hardcastle  a  cross-grained,  old-fashioned, 
whimsical  fellow,  with  an  ugly  face,  a  daughter, 
and  a  pretty  son? 

Hast.  We  have  not  seen  the  gentleman;  but 
he  has  the  family  you  mention. 

Tony.  The  daughter,  a  tall,  trapesing,  trollop- 
ing,  talkative  may-pole — the  son,  a  pretty,  well- 
bred,  agreeable  youth,  that  everybody  is  fond  of? 

Marl.  Our  information  differs  in  this.  The 
daughter  is  said  to  be  well-bred,  and  beautiful; 
the  son  an  awkward  booby,  reared  up  and  spoiled 
at  his  mother's  apron-strings. 

Tony.  He-he-hem! — Then,  gentlemen,  all  I 
have  to  tell  you  is,  that  you  won't  reach  Mr.  Hard- 
castle's  house  this  night,  I  believe. 

Hast.     Unfortunate! 

Tony.  It 's  a  damn'd  long,  dark,  boggy,  dirty, 
dangerous  way.  Stingo,  tell  the  gentlemen  the 
way  to  Mr.  Hardcastle's!  (Winking  upon  the  Land- 
lord.) Mr.  Hardcastle's,  of  Quagmire  Marsh,  you 
understand  me. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  19 

Land.  Master  Hardcastle's!  Lock-a-daisy,  my 
masters,  you  're  come  a  deadly  deal  wrong!  When 
you  came  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  you  should 
have  crossed  down  Squash  Lane. 

Marl.    Cross  down  Squash  Lane! 

Land.  Then  you  were  to  keep  straight  forward, 
till  you  came  to  four  roads. 

Marl.     Come  to  where  four  roads  meet? 

Tony.  Ay;  but  you  must  be  sure  to  take  only 
one  of  them. 

Marl.     O,  Sir,  you  're  facetious. 

Tony.  Then  keeping  to  the  right,  you  are  to 
go  sideways,  till  you  come  upon  Crackskull  Com- 
mon: there  you  must  look  sharp  for  the  track  of 
the  wheel,  and  go  forward  till  you  come  to  farmer 
Murrain's  barn.  Coming  to  the  farmer's  barn, 
you  are  to  turn  to  the  right,  and  then  to  the  left, 
and  then  to  the  right  about  again,  till  you  find  out 
the  old  mill — 

Marl.  Zounds,  man!  we  could  as  soon  find  out 
the  longitude! 

Hast.     What 's  to  be  done,  Marlow? 

Marl.  This  house  promises  but  a  poor  reception; 
though  perhaps  the  landlord  can  accommodate  us. 

Land.  Alack!  master,  we  have  but  one  spare 
bed  in  the  whole  house. 

Tony.    And  to  my  knowledge,  that 's  taken  up 


2°  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

by  three  lodgers  already.  (After  a  pause,  in  which 
the  rest  seem  disconcerted.}  I  have  hit  it.  Don't 
you  think,  Stingo,  our  landlady  could  accommo- 
date the  gentlemen  by  the  fire-side,  with three 

chairs  and  a  bolster? 

Hast.     I  hate  sleeping  by  the  fire-side. 

Marl.  And  I  detest  your  three  chairs  and  a 
bolster. 

Tony.  You  do,  do  you? — then,  let  me  see — 
what  if  you  go  on  a  mile  further,  to  the  Buck's 
Head;  the  old  Buck's  Head  on  the  hill,  one  of  the 
best  inns  in  the  whole  county? 

Hast.  O  ho!  so  we  have  escaped  an  adventure 
for  this  night,  however. 

Land.  (Apart  to  TONY.)  Sure,  you  be  n't  send- 
ing them  to  your  father's  as  an  inn,  be  you  ? 

Tony.  Mum!  you  fool  you.  Let  them  find  that 
out.  (To  them).  You  have  only  to  keep  on  straight 
forward,  till  you  come  to  a  large  old  house  by  the 
road-side.  You  '11  see  a  pair  of  large  horns  over 
the  door.  That 's  the  sign.  Drive  up  the  yard, 
and  call  stoutly  about  you. 

Hast.  Sir,  we  are  obliged  to  you.  The  servants 
can't  miss  the  way. 

Tony.  No,  no:  but  I  tell  you,  though,  the  land- 
lord is  rich,  and  going  to  leave  off  business;  so  he 
wants  to  be  thought  a  gentleman,  saving  your 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  21 

presence,  he!  he!  he!  He  '11  be  for  giving  you  his 
company;  and,  ecod,  if  you  mind  him,  he  11  per- 
suade you  that  his  mother  was  an  alderman,  and 
his  aunt  a  justice  of  the  peace. 

Land.  A  troublesome  old  blade,  to  be  sure; 
but  a  keeps  as  good  wines  and  beds  as  any  in  the 
whole  country. 

Marl.  Well,  if  he  supplies  us  with  these,  we 
shall  want  no  further  connection.  We  are  to  turn 
to  the  right,  did  you  say? 

Tony.  No,  no;  straight  forward.  1 11  just  step 
myself,  and  show  you  a  piece  of  the  way.  (To  the 
Landlord.)  Mum! 

Land.  Ah,  bless  your  heart,  for  a  sweet,  pleas- 
ant  damn'd  mischievous  son  of  a  whore. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  SECOND 

SCENE — An  Old-fashioned  House. 

Enter  HARDCASTLE,  followed  by  three  or  four  awkward 
Servants. 

Hard.  Well,  I  hope  you  are  perfect  in  the  table 
exercise  I  have  been  teaching  you  these  three  days. 
You  all  know  your  posts  and  your  places,  and  can 
show  that  you  have  been  used  to  good  company, 
without  ever  stirring  from  home. 

Omnes.    Ay,  ay. 

Hard.  When  company  comes  you  are  not  to 
pop  out  and  stare,  and  then  run  in  again,  like 
frightened  rabbits  in  a  warren. 

Omnes.     No,  no. 

Hard.  You,  Diggory,  whom  I  have  taken  from 
the  barn,  are  to  make  a  show  at  the  side-table; 
and  you,  Roger,  whom  I  have  advanced  from  the 
plough,  are  to  place  yourself  behind  my  chair. 
But  you  're  not  to  stand  so,  with  your  hands  in 
your  pockets.  Take  your  hands  from  your  pock- 
ets, Roger;  and  from  your  head,  you  blockhead 


22 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  23 

you.  See  how  Diggory  carries  his  hands.   They  're 
a  little  too  stiff,  indeed,  but  that 's  no  great  matter. 

Dig.  Ay,  mind  how  I  hold  them.  I  learned 
to  hold  my  hands  this  way  when  I  was  upon  drill 
for  the  militia.  And  so  being  upon  drill 

Hard.  You  must  not  be  so  talkative,  Diggory. 
You  must  be  all  attention  to  the  guests.  You 
must  hear  us  talk,  and  not  think  of  talking;  you 
must  see  us  drink,  and  not  think  of  drinking; 
you  must  see  us  eat,  and  not  think  of  eating. 

Dig.  By  the  laws,  your  worship,  that 's  par- 
fectly  impossible.  Whenever  Diggory  sees  yeating 
going  forward,  ecod,  he  's  always  wishing  for  a 
mouthful  himself. 

Hard.  Blockhead!  Is  not  a  belly-full  in  the 
kitchen  as  good  as  a  belly-full  in  the  parlour  ?  Stay 
your  stomach  with  that  reflection. 

Dig.  Ecod,  I  thank  your  worship,  I  '11  make 
a  shift  to  stay  my  stomach  with  a  slice  of  cold  beef 
in  the  pantry.  . 

Hard.    Diggory,  you  are  too  talkative. — Then,  i 
if  I  happen  to  say  a  good  thing,  or  tell  a  good  story  J 
at  table,  you  must  not  all  burst  out  a-laughing,  as 
if  you  made  part  of  the  company. 

Dig.  Then,  ecod,  your  worship  must  not  tell  the 
story  of  Ould  Grouse  in  the  gun-room.  I  can't 
help  laughing  at  that — he!  he!  he! — for  the  soul 


24  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

of  me.     We  have  laughed  at  that  these  twenty 
years — ha!  ha!  ha! 

Hard.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  The  story  is  a  good  one. 
Well,  honest  Diggory,  you  may  laugh  at  that — but 
still  renjember  to  be  attentive.  Suppose  one  of 
the  company  should  call  for  a  glass  of  wine,  how 
will  you  behave?  A  glass  of  wine,  Sir,  if  you 
please  (to  DIGGORY).  —  Eh,  why  don 't  you 
move  ? 

Dig.  Ecod,  your  worship,  I  never  have  courage 
till  I  see  the  eatables  and  drinkables  brought  upo' 
the  table,  and  then  I  'm  as  bauld  as  a  lion. 

Hard.     What,  will  nobody  move? 

First  Servant.     I  'm  not  to  leave  this  pleace. 

Sec.  Servant.     I  'm  sure  it 's  no  pleace  of  mine. 

Th.  Servant.     Nor  mine  for  sartain. 

Dig.     Wauns,  and  I  'm  sure  it  canna  be  mine. 

Hard.  You  numskulls!  and  so  while,  like  your 
betters,  you  are  quarrelling  for  places,  the  guests 
must  be  starved.  O  you  dunces!  I  find  I  must 
begin  all  over  again — But  don't  I  hear  a  coach 
drive  into  the  yard?  To  your  posts,  you  block- 
heads. I  '11  go  in  the  mean  time  and  give  my  old 
friend's  son  a  hearty  reception  at  the  gate. 

[Exit  HARDCASTLE. 

Dig.  By  the  elevens,  my  pleace  is  gone  quite 
out  of  my  head. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  25 

Roger.     I  know  that  my  pleace  is  to  be  every  . 
where.  % 

First  Servant.     Where  the  devil  is  mine? 

Sec.  Servant.  My  pleace  is  to  be  no-where.  at 
all;  and  so  I  'ze  go  about  my  business. 

[Exeunt  Servants,  running  about  as  if  frighted, 
different  ways. 

Enter   Servant   with   candles,    showing    in   MARLOW    and 
HASTINGS. 

Servant.  Welcome,  gentlemen,  very  welcome! 
This  way. 

Hast.    After  the  disappointments  of  the  day, 
welcome  oi^Aiore,  Charles,  to  the  comforts  of ' 
a  clean  room^md  a  good  fire.     Upon  my  word,  a 
very  well-looking  house;  antique  but  creditable. 

Marl.  The  usual  fate  of  a  large  mansion.  Hav- 
ing first  ruined  the  master  by  good  housekeeping, 
it  at  last  comes  to  levy  contributions  as  an  inn. 

Hast.  As  you  say,  we  passengers  are  to  be 
taxed  to  pay  all  these  fineries.  I  have  often  seen 
a  good  sideboard,  or  a  marble  chimney-piece, 
though  not  actually  put  in  the  bill,  inflame  a  reck- 
oning confoundedly. 

Marl.  Travellers,  George,  must  pay  in  all 
places;  the  only  difference  is,  that  in  good  inns 
you  pay  dearly  for  luxuries,  in  bad  inns  you  are 
fleeced  and  starved. 


*6  Qhe  stoops  to  Conquer 

Hast.  You  have  lived  very  much  among  them. 
In  truth,  I  have  been  often  surprised,  that  you 
who  have  seen  so  much  of  the  world,  with  your 
natural  good  sense,  and  your  many  opportun- 
ities, could  never  yet  acquire  a  requisite  share  of 
assurance. 

Marl.  The  Englishman's  malady.  But  tell 
me,  George,  where  could  I  have  learned  that  as- 
surance you  talk  of  ?  My  life  has  been  chiefly  spent 
in  a  college  or  an  inn,  in  seclusion  from  that 
lovely  part  of  the  creation  that  chiefly  teach  men 
confidence.  I  don't  know  that  I  was  ever  famil- 
iarly acquainted  with  a  single  modest  woman, 
except  my  mother — But  among  females  of  another 
class,  you  know — 

Hast.  Ay.  among  them  you  are  impudent 
enough  of  all  conscience. 

Marl.     They  are  of  us,  you  know. 

Hast.  But  in  the  company  of  women  of  repu- 
tation, I  never  saw  such  an  idiot,  such  a  trembler; 
you  look  for  all  the  world  as  if  you  wanted  an 
opportunity  of  stealing  out  of  the  room. 

Marl.  Why,  man,  that 's  because  I  do  want  to 
steal  out  of  the  room.  Faith,  I  have  often  formed 
a  resolution  to  break  the  ice,  and  rattle  away  at 
any  rate.  But  I  don't  know  how,  a  single  glance 
from  a  pair  of  fine  eyes  has  totally  overset  my 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  27 

resolution.  An  impudent  fellow  may  counterfeit 
modesty,  but  I  '11  be  hanged  if  a  modest  man  can 
ever  counterfeit  impudence. 

Hast.  If  you  could  but  say  half  the  fine  things 
to  them,  that  I  have  heard  you  lavish  upon  the 
barmaid  of  an  inn,  or  even  a  college  bed-maker 

Marl.  Why,  George,  I  can't  say  fine  things  to 
them;  they  freeze,  they  petrify  me.  They  may 
talk  of  a  comet,  or  a  burning  mountain,  or  some 
such  bagatelle;  but  to  me,  a  modest  woman,  drest 
out  in  all  her  finery,  is  the  most  tremendous  object 
of  the  whole  creation. 

Hast.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  At  this  rate,  man,  how  can 
you  ever  expect  to  marry? 

Marl.  Never;  unless,  as  among  kings  and 
princes,  my  bride  were  to  be  courted  by  proxy.  If, 
indeed,  like  an  Eastern  bridegroom,  one  were  to  be 
introduced  to  a  wife  he  never  saw  before,  it  might 
be  endured.  But  to  go  through  all  the  terrors  of 
a  formal  courtship,  together  with  the  episode  of 
aunts,  grandmothers,  and  cousins,  and  at  last  to 
blurt  out  the  broad  staring  question  of,  "  Madam, 
will  you  marry  me?"  No,  no,  that 's  a  strain 
much  above  me,  I  assure  you. 

Hast.  I  pity  you.  But  how  do  you  intend 
behaving  to  the  lady  you  are  come  down  to  visit 
at  the  request  of  your  father? 


28  gbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Marl.  As  I  behave  to  all  other  ladies.  Bow 
very  low,  answer  yes  or  no  to  all  her  demands. 
— But  for  the  rest,  I  don't  think  I  shall  ven- 
ture to  look  in  her  face  till  I  see  my  father's 
again. 

Hast.  I  'm  surprised  that  one  who  is  so  warm 
a  friend  can  be  so  cool  a  lover. 

Marl.  To  be  explicit,  my  dear  Hastings,  my 
chief  inducement  down  was  to  be  instrumental  in 
forwarding  your  happiness,  not  my  own.  Miss 
Neville  loves  you,  the  family  don't  know  you;  as 
my  friend  you  are  sure  of  a  reception,  and  let 
honour  do  the  rest. 

Hast.  My  dear  Marlow — but  I  '11  suppress  the 
emotion.  Were  I  a  wretch,  meanly  seeking  to 
carry  off  a  fortune,  you  should  be  the  last  man  in 
the  world  I  would  apply  to  for  assistance.  But 
Miss  Neville's  person  is  all  I  ask,  and  that  is  mine, 
both  from  her  deceased  father's  consent,  and  her 
own  inclination. 

Marl.  Happy  man!  You  have  talents  and  art 
to  captivate  any  woman.  I  'm  doomed  to  adore 
the  sex,  and  yet  to  converse  with  the  only  part 
of  it  I  despise.  This  stammer  in  my  address,  and 
this  awkward  prepossessing  visage  of  mine,  can 
never  permit  me  to  soar  above  the  reach  of  a 
milliner's  'prentice,  or  one  of  the  duchesses  of 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  29 

Drury  Lane.     Pshaw!  this  fellow  here  to  interrupt 
us. 

Enter  HARDCASTLE. 

Hard.  Gentlemen,  once  more  you  are  heartily 
welcome.  Which  is  Mr.  Marlow?  Sir,  you  are 
heartily  welcome.  It 's  not  my  way,  you  see,  to 
receive  my  friends  with  my  back  to  the  fire.  I 
like  to  give  them  a  hearty  reception  in  the  old 
style  at  my  gate.  I  like  to  see  their  horses  and 
trunks  taken  care  of. 

Marl.  (Aside.}  He  has  got  our  names  from  the 
servants  already.  (To  him.}  We  approve  your 
caution  and  hospitality,  Sir.  (To  HASTINGS.)  I 
have  been  thinking,  George,  of  changing  our  trav- 
elling dresses  in  the  morning.  I  am  grown  con- 
foundedly ashamed  of  mine. 

Hard.  I  beg,  Mr.  Marlow,  you  '11  use  no  cere- 
mony in  this  house. 

Hast.  I  fancy,  Charles,  you  're  right:  the  first 
blow  is  half  the  battle.  I  intend  opening  the 
campaign  with  the  white  and  gold. 

Hard.  Mr.  Marlow — Mr.  Hastings — gentlemen 
—pray  be  under  no  constraint  in  this  house.  This 
is  Liberty  Hall,  gentlemen.  You  may  do  just  as 
you  please  here.  ^ 

Marl.    Yet,  George,  if  we  open  the  campaign 


30  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

too  fiercely  at  first,  we  may  want  ammunition 
before  it  is  over.  I  think  to  reserve  the  embroid- 
ery to  secure  a  retreat. 

Hard.  Your  talking  of  a  retreat,  Mr.  Marlow, 
puts  me  in  mind  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
when  we  went  to  besiege  Denain.  He  first  sum- 
moned the  garrison 

Marl.  Don't  you  think  the  venire  d'or  waist- 
coat will  do  with  the  plain  brown? 

Hard.  He  first  summoned  the  garrison,  which 
might  consist  of  about  five  thousand  men— 

Hast.  I  think  not:  brown  and  yellow  mix  but 
very  poorly. 

Hard.  I  say,  gentlemen,  as  I  was  telling  you, 
he  summoned  the  garrison,  which  might  consist  of 
about  five  thousand  men 

Marl.     The  girls  like  finery. 

Hard.  Which  might  consist  of  about  five  thou- 
sand men,  well  appointed  with  stores,  ammunition, 
and  other  implements  of  war.  Now,  says  the  Duke 
of  Marlborough  to  George  Brooks,  that  stood  next 
to  him — you  must  have  heard  of  George  Brooks— 
"  I  '11  pawn  my  dukedom, ' '  says  he,  '  *  but  I  take  that 
garrison  without  spilling  a  drop  of  blood. "  So— 

Marl.  What,  my  good  friend,  if  you  gave  us 
a  glass  of  punch  in  the  mean  time;  it  would  help 
us  to  carry  on  the  siege  with  vigour. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  31 

Hard.  Punch,  Sir!  (Aside.)  This  is  the  most 
unaccountable  kind  of  modesty  I  ever  met 
with. 

Marl.  Yes,  Sir,  punch.  A  glass  of  warm  punch 
after  our  journey,  will  be  comfortable.  This  is 
Liberty  Hall,  you  know. 

Hard.     Here  's  a  cup,  Sir. 

Marl.  (Aside.)  So  this  fellow,  in  his  Liberty 
Hall,  will  only  let  us  have  just  what  he  pleases. 

Hard.  (Taking  the  cup.)  I  hope  you  '11  find  it 
to  your  mind.  I  have  prepared  it  with  my  own 
hands,  and  I  believe  you  '11  own  the  ingredients 
are  tolerable.  Will  you  be  so  good  as  to  pledge 
me,  Sir?  Here,  Mr.  Marlow,  here  is  to  our  better 
acquaintance.  (Drinks.) 

Marl.  (Aside.)  A  very  impudent  fellow  this! 
but  he  's  a  character,  and  I  '11  humour  him  a  little. 
— Sir,  my  service  to  you.  (Drinks.) 

Hast.  (Aside.)  I  see  this  fellow  wants  to  give 
us  his  company,  and  forgets  that  he  's  an  inn- 
keeper before  he  has  learned  to  be  a  gentleman. 

Marl.  From  the  excellence  of  your  cup,  my  old 
friend,  I  suppose  you  have  a  good  deal  of  business 
in  this  part  of  the  country.  Warm  work,  now 
and  then,  at  elections,  I  suppose. 

Hard.  No,  Sir,  I  have  long  given  that  work 
over.  Since  our  betters  have  hit  upon  the  expe- 


32  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

dient  of  electing  each  other,  there  is  no  business 
"  for  us  that  sell  ale." 

Hast.  So,  then,  you  have  no  turn  for  politics, 
I  find. 

Hard.  Not  in  the  least.  There  was  a  time, 
indeed,  I  fretted  myself  about  the  mistakes  of 
government,  like  other  people;  but  finding  my- 
self every  day  growing  more  angry,  and  the  gov- 
ernment growing  no  better,  I  left  it  to  mend  itself. 
Since  that,  I  no  more  trouble  my  head  about  Hy- 
der  Ally,  or  Ally  Cawn,  than  about  Ally  Croker. 
Sir,  my  service  to  you. 

Hast.  So  that  with  eating  above  stairs,  and 
drinking  below,  with  receiving  your  friends  within, 
and  amusing  them  without,  you  lead  a  good 
pleasant  bustling  life  of  it. 

Hard.  I  do  stir  about  a  great  deal,  that 's 
certain.  Half  the  differences  of  the  parish  are 
adjusted  in  this  very  parlour. 

Marl.  (After  drinking.)  And  you  have  an  argu- 
ment in  your  cup,  old  gentleman,  better  than  any 
in  Westminster  Hall. 

Hard.  Ay,  young  gentleman,  that,  and  a  little 
philosophy. 

Marl.  (Aside.)  Well,  this  is  the  first  time  I 
ever  heard  of  an  innkeeper's  philosophy. 

Hast.     So  then,   like  an  experienced  general, 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  33 

you  attack  them  on  every  quarter.  If  you  find 
their  reason  manageable,  you  attack  it  with  your 
philosophy;  if  you  find  they  have  no  reason,  you 
attack  them  with  this.  Here  's  your  health,  my 
philosopher.  (Drinks.) 

Hard.  Good,  very  good,  thank  you;  ha!  ha!  ha! 
Your  generalship  puts  me  in  mind  of  Prince  Eu- 
gene, when  he  fought  the  Turks  at  the  battle  of 
Belgrade.  You  shall  hear. 

Marl.  Instead  of  the  battle  of  Belgrade,  I 
believe  it 's  almost  time  to  talk  about  supper. 
What  has  your  philosophy  got  in  the  house  for 
supper! 

Hard.  For  supper,  Sir!  (Aside.)  Was  ever 
such  a  request  to  a  man  in  his  own  house? 

Marl.  Yes,  Sir,  supper,  Sir;  I  begin  to  feel  an 
appetite.  I  shall  make  devilish  work  to-night  in 
the  larder,  I  promise  you. 

Hard.  (Aside.)  Such  a  brazen  dog  sure  never 
my  eyes  beheld.  (To  him.)  Why,  really,  Sir,  as 
for  supper,  I  can't  well  tell.  My  Dorothy  and 
the  cook-maid  settle  these  things  between  them. 
I  leave  these  kind  of  things  entirely  to  them. 

Marl.     You  do,  do  you? 

Hard.  Entirely.  By  the  bye,  I  believe  they 
are  in  actual  consultation  upon  what 's  for  supper, 
this  moment  in  the  kitchen. 


34  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Marl.  Then  I  beg  they  '11  admit  me  as  one  of 
their  privy-council.  It 's  a  way  I  have  got.  When 
I  travel  I  always  choose  to  regulate  my  own  supper. 
Let  the  cook  be  called.  No  offence  I  hope,  Sir  ? 

Hard.  O  no,  Sir,  none  in  the  least;  yet  I  don't 
know  how;  our  Bridget,  the  cook-maid,  is  not  very 
communicative  upon  these  occasions.  Should  we 
send  for  her,  she  might  scold  us  all  out  of  the  house. 

Hast.  Let 's  see  your  list  of  the  larder  then.  I 
ask  it  as  a  favour.  I  always  match  my  appetite 
to  my  bill  of  fare. 

Marl.  (To  HARDCASTLE,  who  looks  at  them  with 
surprise.)  Sir,  he  's  very  right,  and  it 's  my  way 
too. 

Hard.  Sir,  you  have  a  right  to  command  here. 
Here,  Roger,  bring  us  the  bill  of  fare  for  to-night's 
supper:  I  believe  it 's  drawn  out. — Your  manner 
Mr.  Hastings,  puts  me  in  mind  of  my  uncle,  Colo- 
nel Wallop.  It  was  a  saying  of  his,  that  no  man 
was  sure  of  his  supper  till  he  had  eaten  it. 

Hast.  (Aside.)  All  upon  the  high  ropes!  His 
uncle  a  colonel!  we  shall  soon  hear  of  his  mother 
being  a  justice  of  the  peace.  But  let 's  hear  the 
bill  of  fare. 

Marl.  (Perusing.)  What 's  here?  For  the  first 
course;  for  the  second  course;  for  the  dessert.  The 
devil,  Sir,  do  you  think  we  have  brought  down  the 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  35 

whole  Joiners'  Company,  or  the  corporation  of 
Bedford,  to  eat  up  such  a  supper?  Two  or  three 
little  things,  clean  and  comfortable  will  do. 

Hast.     But  let 's  hear  it. 

Marl.  (Reading.)  For  the  first  course  at  the 
top,  a  pig,  and  prune  sauce. 

Hast.     Damn  your  pig,  I  say. 

Marl.    And  damn  your  prune  sauce,  say  I. 

Hard.  And  yet,  gentlemen,  to  men  that  are 
hungry,  pig  with  prune  sauce  is  very  good  eating. 

Marl.  At  the  bottom,  a  calf's  tongue  and 
brains. 

Hast.  Let  your  brains  be  knocked  out,  my  good 
Sir,  I  don't  like  them. 

Marl.  Or  you  may  clap  them  on  a  plate  by 
themselves.  I  do. 

Hard.  (Aside.)  Their  impudence  confounds 
me.  (To  them.)  Gentlemen,  you  are  my  guests, 
make  what  alterations  you  please.  Is  there  any- 
thing else  you  wish  to  retrench  or  alter,  gentlemen  ? 

Marl.  Item.  A  pork  pie,  a  boiled  rabbit  and 
sausages,  a  Florentine,  a  shaking  pudding,  and  a 
dish  of  tiff — taff — taffety  cream. 

Hast.  Confound  your  made  dishes;  I  shall  be 
as  much  at  a  loss  in  this  house  as  at  a  green  and 

x-      y ^- 

yellow  dinner  at  the  French  Ambassador's  table. 
I  'm  for  plain  eating. 


36  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Hard.  I  'm  sorry,  gentlemen,  that  I  have  no- 
thing you  like,  but  if  there  be  anything  you  have 
a  particular  fancy  to 

Marl.  Why,  really,  Sir,  your  bill  of  fare  is  so 
exquisite,  that  any  one  part  of  it  is  full  as  good  as 
another.  Send  us  what  you  please.  So  much  for 
supper.  And  now  to  see  that  our  beds  are  aired, 
and  properly  taken  care  of. 

Hard.  .  I  entreat  you  11  leave  all  that  to  me. 
You  shall  not  stir  a  step. 

Marl.  Leave  that  to  you!  I  protest,  Sir,  you 
must  excuse  me,  I  always  look  to  these  things 
myself. 

Hard.  I  must  insist,  Sir,  you  11  make  yourself 
easy  on  that  head. 

Marl.  You  see  I  'm  resolved  on  it.  (Aside.) 
A  very  troublesome  fellow  this,  as  I  ever  met  with. 

Hard.  Well,  Sir,  I  'm  resolved  at  least  to  attend 
you.  (Aside.)  This  may  be  modern  modesty, 
but  I  never  saw  anything  look  so  like  old-fashioned 
impudence.  [Exeunt  MARLOW  and  HARDCASTLE. 

Hast.  (Alone.)  So  I  find  this  fellow's  civilities 
begin  to  grow  troublesome.  But  who  can  be  angry 
at  those  assiduities  which  are  meant  to  please  him  ? 
— Ha!  what  do  I  see?  Miss  Neville,  by  all  that 's 
happy! 

Enter  Miss  NEVILLE. 


Sbe  Stoopa  to  Conquer  37 

Miss  Nev.  My  dear  Hastings!  To  what  unex- 
pected good  fortune,  to  what  accident,  am  I  to 
ascribe  this  happy  meeting? 

Hast.  Rather  let  me  ask  the  same  question,  as 
I  could  never  have  hoped  to  meet  my  dearest 
Constance  at  an  inn. 

Miss  Nev.  An  inn!  sure  you  mistake:  my  aunt, 
my  guardian,  lives  here.  What  could  induce  you 
to  think  this  house  an  inn? 

Hast.  My  friend,  Mr.  Marlow,  with  whom  I 
came  down,  and  I,  have  been  sent  here  as  to  an 
inn,  I  assure  you.  A  young  fellow,  whom  we  acci- 
dentally met  at  a  house  hard  by,  directed  us 
hither. 

Miss  Nev.  Certainly  it  must  be  one  of  my  hope- 
ful cousin's  tricks,  of  whom  you  have  heard  me 
talk  so  often;  ha!  ha!  ha! 

Hast.  He  whom  your  aunt  intends  for  you  ?  he 
of  whom  I  have  such  just  apprehensions? 

Miss  Nev.  You  have  nothing  to  fear  from  him, 
I  assure  you.  You  'd  adore  him  if  you  knew  how 
heartily  he  despises  me.  My  aunt  knows  it  too, 
and  has  undertaken  to  court  me  for  him,  and 
actually  begins  to  think  she  has  made  a  conquest. 

Hast.  Thou  dear  dissembler!  You  must  know, 
my  Constance,  I  have  just  seized  this  happy  oppor- 
tunity of  my  friend's  visit  here  to  get  admittance 


38  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

into  the  family.  The  horses  that  carried  us  down 
are  now  fatigued  with  their  journey,  but  they  '11 
soon  be  refreshed;  and  then,  if  my  dearest  girl  will 
trust  in  her  faithful  Hastings,  we  shall  soon  be 
landed  in  France,  where  even  among  slaves  the 
laws  of  marriage  are  respected.1 

Miss  Nev.  I  have  often  told  you,  that  though 
ready  to  obey  you,  I  yet  should  leave  my  little  for- 
tune behind  with  reluctance.  The  greatest  part 
of  it  was  left  me  by  my  uncle,  the  India  director, 
and  chiefly  consists  in  jewels.  I  have  been  for 
some  time  persuading  my  aunt  to  let  me  wear 
them.  I  fancy  I  'm  very  near  succeeding.  The 
instant  they  are  put  into  my  possession,  you  shall 
find  me  ready  to  make  them  and  myself  yours. 

Hast.  Perish  the  baubles!  Your  person  is  all 
I  desire.  In  the  mean  time,  my  friend  Marlow 
must  not  be  let  into  his  mistake.  I  know  the 
strange  reserve  of  his  temper  is  such,  that  if 
abruptly  informed  of  it,  he  would  instantly  quit 
the  house  before  our  plan  was  ripe  for  execution. 

1  "The  Duke  of  Gloucester,  for  whom,  in  consequence  of  the 
Royal  Marriage  Act,  some  public  sympathy  existed,  was  present 
the  first  night  of  representation;  whether  from  previous  intimation 
of  a  passage  in  the  play  does  not  appear.  But  when  Hastings 
uttered  the  speech,  'we  shall  soon  be  landed  in  France,  where  even 
among  slaves  the  laws  of  marriage  are  respected,'  it  was  instantly 
applied  to  his  Royal  Highness  by  the  audience,  and  several  rounds 
of  applause  testified  their  feeling  for  his  situation." — PRIOR'S  Life  of 
Goldsmith,  vol.  ii.  p.  394. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  39 

Miss  Nev.     But  how  shall  we  keep  him  in  the 

deception?     Miss  Hardcastle  is  just  returned  from 

walking;  what  if  we  still  continue  to  deceive  him? 

This,  this  way [They  confer. 

Enter  MARLOW. 

Marl.  The  assiduities  of  these  good  people 
tease  me  beyond  bearing.  My  host  seems  to  think 
it  ill  manners  to  leave  me  alone,  and  so  he  claps 
not  only  himself  but  his  old-fashioned  wife  on  my 
back.  They  talk  of  coming  to  sup  with  us  too; 
and  then,  I  suppose,  we  are  to  run  the  gauntlet 
through  all  the  rest  of  the  family. — What  have 
we  got  here? 

Hast.  My  dear  Charles!  Let  me  congratulate 
you! — The  most  fortunate  accident! — Who  do  you 
think  has  just  alighted? 

Marl.     Cannot  guess. 

Hast.  Our  mistresses,  boy,  Miss  Hardcastle 
and  Miss  Neville.  Give  me  leave  to  introduce 
Miss  Constance  Neville  to  your  acquaintance. 
Happening  to  dine  in  the  neighbourhood,  they 
called  on  their  return  to  take  fresh  horses  here. 
Miss  Hardcastle  has  just  stepped  into  the  next 
room,  and  will  be  back  in  an  instant.  Was  n't  it 
lucky?  eh! 

Marl.  (Aside.)     I  have  been  mortified  enough 


40  sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

of  all  conscience,  and  here  comes  something  to 
complete  my  embarrassment. 

Hast.  Well,  but  was  n't  it  the  most  fortunate 
thing  in  the  world? 

Marl.  Oh!  yes.  Very  fortunate — a  most  joy- 
ful encounter — But  our  dresses,  George,  you  know 
are  in  disorder — What  if  we  should  postpone  the 
happiness  till  to-morrow? — To-morrow  at  her  own 
house — It  will  be  every  bit  as  convenient — and 
rather  more  respectful — To-morrow  let  it  be. 

[Offering  to  go. 

Miss  Nev.  By  no  means,  Sir.  Your  ceremony 
will  displease  her.  The  disorder  of  your  dress  will 
show  the  ardour  of  your  impatience.  Besides,  she 
knows  you  are  in  the  house,  and  will  permit  you  to 
see  her. 

Marl.  O!  the  devil!  how  shall  I  support  it? 
Hem!  hem!  Hastings,  you  must  not  go.  You  are 
to  assist  me,  you  know.  I  shall  be  confoundedly 
ridiculous.  Yet,  hang  it!  1 '11  take  courage. 
Hem! 

Hast.  Pshaw,  man!  it 's  but  the  first  plunge,  and 
all 's  over.  She  's  but  a  woman,  you  know. 

Marl.  And  of  all  women,  she  that  I  dread  most 
to  encounter. 

Enter  Miss  HARDCASTLE,  as  returned  from  walking, 
a  bonnet,  &c. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  4* 

Hast.  (Introducing  them.)  Miss  Hardcastle. 
Mr.  Marlow.  I  'm  proud  of  bringing  two  persons 
of  such  merit  together,  that  only  want  to  know,  to 
esteem  each  other. 

Miss  Hard.  (Aside.)  Now  for  meeting  my 
modest  gentleman  with  a  demure  face,  and  quite 
in  his  own  manner.  (After  a  pause,  in  which  he 
appears  very  uneasy  and  disconcerted.)  I  'm  glad 
of  your  safe  arrival,  Sir.  I  'm  told  you  had  some 
accidents  by  the  way. 

Marl.  Only  a  few,  Madam.  Yes,  we  had  some. 
Yes,  Madam,  a  good  many  accidents,  but  should 
be  sorry — Madam — or  rather  glad  of  any  accidents, 
—that  are  so  agreeably  concluded.  Hem! 

Hast.  (To  him.)  You  never  spoke  better  in 
your  whole  life.  Keep  it  up,  and  1 11  insure  you 
the  victory. 

Miss  Hard.  I  'm  afraid  you  flatter,  Sir.  You 
that  have  seen  so  much  of  the  finest  company,  can 
find  little  entertainment  in  an  obscure  corner  of 
the  country. 

Marl.  (Gathering  courage.)  I  have  lived,  indeed, 
in  the  world,  Madam;  but  I  have  kept  very  little 
company.  I  have  been  but  an  observer  upon  life, 
Madam,  while  others  were  enjoying  it. 

Miss  Nev.  But  that,  I  am  told,  is  the  way  to 
enjoy  it  at  last. 


42  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Hast.  (To  him.)  Cicero  never  spoke  better. 
Once  more,  and  you  are  confirmed  in  assurance 
forever. 

Marl.  (To  him.)  Stand  by  me,  then,  and  when 
I  'm  down,  throw  in  a  word  or  two  to  set  me  up 
again. 

Miss  Hard.  An  observer,  like  you,  upon  life 
were,  I  fear,  disagreeably  employed,  since  you 
must  have  had  much  more  to  censure  than  to 
approve. 

Marl.  Pardon  me,  Madam.  I  was  always  will- 
ing to  be  amused.  The  folly  of  most  people  is 
rather  an  object  of  mirth  than  uneasiness. 

Hast.  (To  him.)  Bravo,  bravo.  Never  spoke 
so  well  in  your  whole  life.  Well,  Miss  Hardcastle, 
I  see  that  you  and  Mr.  Marlow  are  going  to  be  very 
good  company.  I  believe  our  being  here  will  but 
embarrass  the  interview. 

Marl.  Not  in  the  least,  Mr.  Hastings.  We  like 
your  company  of  all  things.  (To  him.)  Zounds! 
George,  sure  you  won't  go?  how  can  you  leave 
us? 

Hast.  Our  presence  will  but  spoil  conversation, 
so  we  '11  retire  to  the  next  room.  (To  him.)  You 
don't  consider,  man,  that  we  are  to  manage  a  little 
tete-b-tete  of  our  own.  [Exeunt. 

Miss  Hard.     (After  a  pause.)     But  you  have 


.ft 

mudoD 


uoriT*   — 


yrf  §niw£ifa 


Sbc  Stoops  to  Conquer 


Cicero   ne' 
had  rr 


oke   better, 
.nee 


1  when 
set  me  up 

life 

:    tO 


I 


^sence 


Hastings. — "Thou  dear  dissembler." 

Hct  1Tf . 

From  the  drawing  by  Frederick  Simpson  Coburn 


©be  Stoops  to  Conquer  43 

not  been  wholly  an  observer,  I  presume,  Sir:  the 
ladies,  I  should  hope,  have  employed  some  part  of 
your  addresses. 

Marl.  (Relapsing  into  timidity.)  Pardon  me, 
Madam,  I — I — I — as  yet  have  studied — only — to 
— deserve  them. 

Miss  Hard.  And  that,  some  say,  is  the  very 
worst  way  to  obtain  them. 

Marl.  Perhaps  so,  Madam.  But  I  love  to  con- 
verse only  with  the  more  grave  and  sensible  part 
of  the  sex.  But  I  'm  afraid  I  grow  tiresome. 

Miss  Hard.  Not  at  all,  Sir;  there  is  nothing  I 
like  so  much  as  grave  conversation  myself;  I  could 
hear  it  forever.  Indeed,  I  have  often  been  sur- 
prised how  a  man  of  sentiment  could  ever  admire 
those  light  airy  pleasures,  where  nothing  reaches 
the  heart. 

Marl.  It 's a  disease of  the  mind,  Madam. 

In  the  variety  of  tastes  there  must  be  some  who, 
wanting  a  relish for um a um. 

Miss  Hard.  I  understand  you,  Sir.  There 
must  be  some  who,  wanting  a  relish  for  refined 
pleasures,  pretend  to  despise  what  they  are  incap- 
able of  tasting. 

Marl.  My  meaning,  Madam,  but  infinitely  bet- 
ter expressed.  And  I  can't  help  observing a 

Miss  Hard.  (Aside.)     Who  could  ever  suppose 


44  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

this  fellow  impudent  upon  some  occasions!  (To 
him.)  You  were  going  to  observe,  Sir 

Marl.  I  was  observing,  Madam — I  protest, 
Madam,  I  forget  what  I  was  going  to  observe. 

Miss  Hard.  (Aside.)  I  vow  and  so  do  I.  (To 
him.)  You  were  observing,  Sir,  that  in  this  age  of 
hypocrisy — something  about  hypocrisy,  Sir. 

Marl.  Yes,  Madam.  In  this  age  of  hypocrisy 
there  are  few  who  upon  strict  inquiry  do  not — a — a 
— a — 

Miss  Hard.     I  understand  you  perfectly,  Sir. 

Marl.  (Aside.)  Egad!  and  that 's  more  than 
I  do  myself. 

Miss  Hard.  You  mean  that  in  this  hypocritical 
age  there  are  few  that  do  not  condemn  in  public 
what  they  practise  in  private,  and  think  they  pay 
every  debt  to  virtue  when  they  praise  it. 

Marl.  True,  Madam;  those  who  have  most  vir- 
tue in  their  mouths,  have  least  of  it  in  their  bo- 
soms. But  I  'm  sure  I  tire  you,  Madam. 

Miss  Hard.  Not  in  the  least,  Sir;  there  's  some- 
thing so  agreeable  and  spirited  in  your  manner, 
such  life  and  force — pray,  Sir,  go  on. 

Marl.  Yes,  Madam.  I  was  saying—  —that 
there  are  some  occasions, — when  a  total  want  of 

courage,  Madam,  destroys  all  the and  puts  us 

upon  a — SL — a — 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  45 

Miss  Hard.  I  agree  with  you  entirely;  a  want 
of  courage  upon  some  occasions  assumes  the  ap- 
pearance of  ignorance,  and  betrays  us  when  we 
most  want  to  excel.  I  beg  you  '11  proceed. 

Marl.  Yes,  Madam.  Morally  speaking,  Madam 
— But  I  see  Miss  Neville  expecting  us  in  the  next 
room.  I  would  not  intrude  for  the  world. 

Miss  Hard.  I  protest,  Sir,  I  never  was  more 
agreeably  entertained  in  all  my  life.  Pray  go 
on. 

Marl.     Yes,  Madam,  I  was But  she  beckons 

us  to  join  her.     Madam,  shall  I  do  myself  the 
honour  to  attend  you? 

Miss  Hard.     Well  then,  1 11  follow. 

Marl.  (Aside.)  This  pretty  smooth  dialogue 
has  done  for  me.  [Exit. 

Miss  Hard.  (Alone.)  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Was  there 
ever  such  a  sober,  sentimental  interview?  I  'm 
certain  he  scarce  looked  in  my  face  the  whole  time. 
Yet  the  fellow,  but  for  his  unaccountable  bashful- 
ness,  is  pretty  well  too.  He  has  good  sense,  but 
then  so  buried  in  his  fears,  that  it  fatigues  one  more 
than  ignorance.  If  I  could  teach  him  a  little  confi- 
dence, it  would  be  doing  somebody  that  I  know  of 
a  piece  of  service.  But  who  is  that  somebody? 
That,  faith,  is  a  question  I  can  scarce  answer. 

[Exit. 


46  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Enter  TONY  and  Miss  NEVILLE,  followed  by  MRS.  HARD- 
CASTLE  and  HASTINGS. 

Tony.  What  do  you  follow  me  for,  Cousin  Con  ? 
I  wonder  you  're  not  ashamed  to  be  so  very  engag- 
ing. 

Miss  Nev.  I  hope,  cousin,  one  may  speak  to 
one's  own  relations,  and  not  be  to  blame. 

Tony.    Ay,  but  I  know  what  sort  of  a  relation 

you  want  to  make  me,  though;  but  it  won't  do. 

I  tell  you,  Cousin  Con,  it  won't  do;  so  I  beg  you  '11 

keep  your  distance,  I  want  no  nearer  relationship. 

[She  follows,  coquetting  him  to  the  back  scene. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Well!  I  vow,  Mr.  Hastings,  you  are 
very  entertaining.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world 
I  love  to  talk  of  so  much  as  London,  and  the  fash- 
ions, though  I  was  never  there  myself. 

Hast.  Never  there!  You  amaze  me!  From 
your  air  and  manner,  I  concluded  you  had  been 
bred  all  your  life  either  at  Ranelagh,  St.  James's, 
or  Tower  Wharf. 

Mrs.  Hard.  0!  Sir,  you  're  only  pleased  to  say 
so.  We  country  persons  can  have  no  manner  at 
all.  I  'm  in  love  with  the  town,  and  that  serves  to 
raise  me  above  some  of  our  neighbouring  rustics; 
but  who  can  have  a  manner,  that  has  never  seen 
the  Pantheon,  the  Grotto  Gardens,  the  Borough, 
and  such  places  where  the  nobility  chiefly  resort? 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  47 

All  I  can  do  is  to  enjoy  London  at  second-hand.  I 
take  care  to  know  every  tete-a-tete  from  the  Scandal- 
ous Magazine,and  have  all  the  fashions,  as  they  come 
out,  in  a  letter  from  the  two  Miss  Rickets  of  Crooked 
Lane.  Pray  how  do  you  like  this  head,  Mr.  Hastings  ? 

Hast.  Extremely  elegant  and  degagte,  upon 
my  word,  Madam.  Your  friseur  is  a  Frenchman, 
I  suppose.  ? 

Mrs.  Hard.  I  protest,  I  dressed  it  myself  from 
a  print  in  the  Ladies'  Memorandum  Book  for  the 
last  year. 

Hast.  Indeed!  Such  a  head  in  a  side-box  at 
the  playhouse  would  draw  as  many  gazers  as  my 
Lady  Mayoress  at  a  city  ball. 

Mrs.  Hard.  I  vow,  since  inoculation  began, 
there  is  no  such  thing  to  be  seen  as  a  plain  woman, 
so  one  must  dress  a  little  particular,  or  one  may 
escape  in  the  crowd. 

Hast.  But  that  can  never  be  your  case,  Madam, 
in  any  dress.  (Bowing.) 

Mrs.  Hard.  Yet,  what  signifies  my  dressing 
when  I  have  such  a  piece  of  antiquity  by  my  side 
as  Mr.  Hardcastle:  all  I  can  say  will  never  argue 
down  a  single  button  from  his  clothes.  I  have 
often  wanted  him  to  throw  off  his  great  flaxen  wig, 
and  where  he  was  bald,  to  plaster  it  over  like  my 
Lord  Pately,  with  powder. 


48  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Hast.  You  are  right,  Madam;  for,  as  among 
the  ladies  there  are  none  ugly,  so  among  the  men 
there  are  none  old. 

Mrs.  Hard.  But  what  do  you  think  his  answer 
was  ?  Why,  with  his  usual  Gothic  vivacity,  he  said 
I  only  wanted  him  to  throw  off  his  wig  to  convert 
it  into  a  tete  for  my  own  wearing. 

Hast.  Intolerable!  At  your  age  you  may  wear 
what  you  please,  and  it  must  become  you. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Pray,  Mr.  Hastings,  what  do  you 
take  to  be  the  most  fashionable  age  about  town? 

Hast.  Some  time  ago,  forty  was  all  the  mode; 
but  I  'm  told  the  ladies  intend  to  bring  up  fifty  for 
the  ensuing  winter. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Seriously.  Then  I  shall  be  too 
young  for  the  fashion. 

Hast.  No  lady  begins  now  to  put  on  jewels 
till  she  's  past  forty.  For  instance,  Miss  there,  in  a 
polite  circle,  would  be  considered  as  a  child,  as  a 
mere  maker  of  samplers. 

Mrs.  Hard.  And  yet  Mrs.  Niece  thinks  herself 
as  much  a  woman,  and  is  as  fond  of  jewels,  as  the 
oldest  of  us  all. 

Hast.  Your  niece,  is  she?  And  that  young 
gentleman,  a  brother  of  yours,  I  should  presume? 

Mrs.  Hard.  My  son,  Sir.  They  are  contracted 
to  each  other.  Observe  their  little  sports.  They 


Sbc  Stoops  to  Conquer  49 

fall  in  and  out  ten  times  a  day,  as  if  they  were  man 
and  wife  already.  (To  them.)  Well,  Tony,  child, 
what  soft  things  are  you  saying  to  your  cousin 
Constance  this  evening? 

Tony.  I  have  been  saying  no  soft  things;  but 
that  it 's  very  hard  to  be  followed  about  so.  Ecod! 
I  've  not  a  place  in  the  house  now  that 's  left  to 
myself,  but  the  stable. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Never  mind  him,  Con,  my  dear. 
He  's  in  another  story  behind  your  back. 

Miss  Nev.  There  's  something  generous  in  my 
cousin's  manner.  He  falls  out  before  faces  to  be 
forgiven  in  private. 

Tony.    That 's  a  damned  confounded — crack. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Ah!  he  's  a  sly  one.  Don't  you 
think  they  're  like  each  other  about  the  mouth, 
Mr.  Hastings?  The  Blenkinsop  mouth  to  a  T. 
They  're  of  a  size  too.  Back  to  back,  my  pretties, 
that  Mr.  Hastings  may  see  you.  Come,  Tony. 

Tony.  You  had  as  good  not  make  me,  I  tell 
you.  (Measuring.) 

Miss  Nev.  O  lud!  he  has  almost  cracked  my 
head. 

Mrs.  Hard.  O,  the  monster!  For  shame,  Tony. 
You  a  man,  and  behave  so! 

Tony.  If  I  'm  a  man,  let  me  have  my  fortin. 
Ecod!  I  '11  not  be  made  a  fool  of  no  longer. 


50  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Mrs.  Hard.  Is  this,  ungrateful  boy,  all  that 
I  'm  to  get  for  the  pains  I  have  taken  in  your  edu- 
cation? I  that  have  rocked  you  in  your  cradle, 
and  fed  that  pretty  mouth  with  a  spoon!  Did  not 
I  work  that  waistcoat  to  make  you  genteel?  Did 
not  I  prescribe  for  you  every  day,  and  weep  while 
the  receipt  was  operating? 

Tony.  Ecod!  you  had  reason  to  weep,  for  you 
have  been  dosing  me  ever  since  I  was  born.  I 
have  gone  through  every  receipt  in  the  Complete 
Huswife  ten  times  over;  and  you  have  thoughts 
of  coursing  me  through  Quincy  next  spring.  But, 
ecod!  I  tell  you,  I  '11  not  be  made  a  fool  of  no  longer. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Was  n't  it  all  for  your  good,  viper  ? 
Wasn't  it  all  for  your  good? 

Tony.  I  wish  you  'd  let  me  and  my  good  alone, 
then.  Snubbing  this  way  when  I  'm  in  spirits. 
If  I  'm  to  have  any  good,  let  it  come  of  itself;  not 
to  keep  dinging  it,  dinging  it  into  one  so. 

Mrs.  Hard.  That 's  false;  I  never  see  you  when 
you  're  in  spirits.  No,  Tony,  you  then  go  to  the 
alehouse  or  kennel.  I  'm  never  to  be  delighted 
with  your  agreeable  wild  notes,  unfeeling  monster! 

Tony.  Ecod!  Mamma,  your  own  notes  are  the 
wildest  of  the  two. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Was  ever  the  like?  But  I  see  he 
wants  to  break  my  heart;  I  see  he  does. . 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  51 

Hast.  Dear  Madam,  permit  me  to  lecture  the 
young  gentleman  a  little.  I  'm  certain  I  can 
persuade  him  to  his  duty. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Well,  I  must  retire.  Come,  Con- 
stance, my  love.  You  see,  Mr.  Hastings,  the 
wretchedness  of  my  situation:  was  ever  poor 
woman  so  plagued  with  a  dear,  sweet,  pretty, 
provoking,  undutiful  boy? 

[Exeunt  MRS.  HARDCASTLE  and  Miss  NEVILLE. 

HASTINGS,  TONY. 

TONY  (singing).  " There  was  a  young  man  rid- 
ing by,  and  fain  would  have  his  will.  Rang  do 
didlo  dee."-  —Don't  mind  her.  Let  her  cry. 
It 's  the  comfort  of  her  heart.  I  have  seen  her 
and  sister  cry  over  a  book  for  an  hour  together; 
and  they  said  they  liked  the  book  the  better  the 
more  it  made  them  cry. 

Hast.  Then  you  're  no  friend  to  the  ladies,  I 
find,  my  pretty  young  gentleman? 

Tony.     That 's  as  I  find  'urn. 

Hast.  Not  to  her  of  your  mother's  choosing,  I 
dare  answer?  And  yet  she  appears  to  me  a  pretty 
well-tempered  girl. 

Tony.  That 's  because  you  don't  know  her  as 
well  as  I,  Ecod!  I  know  every  inch  about  her; 


52  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

and  there 's  not  a  more  bitter  cantanckerous  toad 
in  all  Christendom. 

Hast.  (Aside).  Pretty  encouragement  this  for 
a  lover! 

Tony.  I  have  seen  her  since  the  height  of  that. 
She  has  as  many  tricks  as  a  hare  in  a  thicket,  or 
a  colt  the  first  day's  breaking. 

Hast.    To  me  she  appears  sensible  and  silent. 

Tony.  Ay,  before  company.  But  when  she  's 
with  her  playmate,  she 's  as  loud  as  a  hog  in  a 
gate. 

Hast.  But  there  is  a  meek  modesty  about  her 
that  charms  me. 

Tony.  Yes,  but  curb  her  never  so  little,  she 
kicks  up,  and  you  're  flung  in  a  ditch. 

Hast.  Well,  but  you  must  allow  her  a  little 
beauty. — Yes,  you  must  allow  her  some  beauty. 

Tony.  Bandbox!  She  's  all  a  made-up  thing, 
mun.  Ah!  could  you  but  see  Bet  Bouncer  of  these 
parts,  you  might  then  talk  of  beauty.  Ecod!  she 
has  two  eyes  as  black  as  sloes,  and  cheeks  as  broad 
and  red  as  a  pulpit  cushion.  She  'd  make  two  of 
she. 

Hast.  Well,  what  say  you  to  a  friend  that  would 
take  this  bitter  bargain  off  your  hands? 

Tony.     Anon. 

Hast.     Would  you  thank  him  that  would  take 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  53 

Miss  Neville,  and  leave  you  to  happiness  and  your 
dear  Betsy? 

Tony.  Ay;  but  where  is  there  such  a  friend, 
for  who  would  take  her? 

Hast.  I  am  he.  If  you  but  assist  me,  I  '11  en- 
gage to  whip  her  off  to  France,  and  you  shall  never 
hear  more  of  her. 

Tony.  Assist  you!  Ecod!  I  will,  to  the  last  drop 
of  my  blood.  I  '11  clap  a  pair  of  horses  to  your 
chaise  that  shall  trundle  you  off  in  a  twinkling, 
and  may  be  get  you  a  part  of  her  fortin  beside,  in 
jewels,  that  you  little  dream  of. 

Hast.  My  dear  'squire,  this  looks  like  a  lad  of 
spirit. 

Tony.  Come  along,  then,  and  you  shall  see 
more  of  my  spirit  before  you  have  done  with  me. 
(Singing.) 

"  We  are  the  boys 
That  fears  no  noise 
Where  the  thundering  cannons  roar." 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  THIRD 

Enter  HARDCASTLE  alone. 

Hard.  What  could  my  old  friend  Sir  Charles  mean 
by  recommending  his  son  as  the  modestest  young 
man  in  town?  To  me  he  appears  the  most  impu- 
dent piece  of  brass  that  ever  spoke  with  a  tongue. 
He  has  taken  possession  of  the  easy  chair  by  the 
fire-side  already.  He  took  off  his  boots  in  the 
parlour,  and  desired  me  to  see  them  taken  care  of. 
I  'm  desirous  to  know  how  his  impudence  affects 
my  daughter.  She  will  certainly  be  shocked  at  it. 

Enter  Miss  HARDCASTLE,  plainly  dressed. 

Hard.  Well,  my  Kate,  I  see  you  have  changed 
your  dress,  as  I  bid  you;  and  yet,  I  believe,  there 
was  no  great  occasion. 

Miss  Hard.  I  find  such  a  pleasure,  Sir,  in  obey- 
ing your  commands,  that  I  take  care  to  observe 
them  without  ever  debating  their  propriety. 

Hard.    And  yet,  Kate,  I  sometimes  give  you 

54 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  55 

some  cause,  particularly  when  I  recommended 
my  modest  gentleman  to  you  as  a  lover  to- 
day. 

Miss  Hard.  You  taught  me  to  expect  some- 
thing extraordinary,  and  I  find  the  original  exceeds 
the  description. 

Hard.  I  was  never  so  surprised  in  my  life!  He 
has  quite  confounded  all  my  faculties! 

Miss  Hard.  I  never  saw  anything  like  it:  and 
a  man  of  the  world  too! 

Hard.  Ay,  he  learned  it  all  abroad — what  a  fool 
was  I,  to  think  a  young  man  could  learn  mod- 
esty by  travelling.  He  might  as  soon  learn  wit 
at  a  masquerade. 

Miss  Hard.     It  seems  all  natural  to  him. 

Hard.  A  good  deal  assisted  by  bad  company 
and  a  French  dancing-master. 

Miss  Hard.  Sure  you  mistake,  Papa !  A  French 
dancing-master  could  never  have  taught  him  that 
timid  look — that  awkward  address — that  bashful 
manner — 

Hard.     Whose  look  ?  whose  manner,  child  ? 

Miss  Hard.  Mr.  Marlow's:  his  mauvaise  honte, 
his  timidity,  struck  me  at  the  first  sight. 

Hard.  Then  your  first  sight  deceived  you;  for 
I  think  him  one  of  the  most  brazen  first  sights  that 
ever  astonished  my  senses. 


56  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Miss  Hard.  Sure,  Sir,  you  rally!  I  never  saw 
any  one  so  modest. 

Hard.  And  can  you  be  serious?  I  never  saw 
such  a  bouncing,  swaggering  puppy  since  I  was 
born.  Bully  Dawson  was  but  a  fool  to  him. 

Miss  Hard.  Surprising!  He  met  me  with  a 
respectful  bow,  a  stammering  voice,  and  a  look 
fixed  on  the  ground. 

Hard.  He  met  me  with  a  loud  voice,  a  lordly 
air,  and  a  familiarity  that  made  my  blood  freeze 
again. 

Miss  Hard.  He  treated  me  with  diffidence  and 
respect;  censured  the  manners  of  the  age;  admired 
the  prudence  of  girls  that  never  laughed;  tired  me 
with  apologies  for  being  tiresome;  then  left  the 
room  with  a  bow,  and  "  Madam,  I  would  not  for 
the  world  detain  you." 

Hard.  He  spoke  to  me  as  if  he  knew  me  all  his 
life  before;  asked  twenty  questions,  and  never 
waited  for  an  answer;  interrupted  my  best  re- 
marks with  some  silly  pun;  and  when  I  was  in 
my  best  story  of  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  and 
Prince  Eugene,  he  asked  if  I  had  not  a  good  hand 
at  making  punch.  Yes,  Kate,  he  asked  your 
father  if  he  was  a  maker  of  punch! 

Miss  Hard.  One  of  us  must  certainly  be  mis- 
taken. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  57 

Hard.     If  he  be  what  he  has  shown  himself, } 
I  'm  determined  he  shall  never  have  my  consent.  \ 

Miss  Hard.     And  if  he  be  the  sullen  thing  I  take  I 
him,  he  shall  never  have  mine.  / 

Hard.  In  one  thing  then  we  are  agreed — to 
reject  him. 

Miss  Hard.  Yes:  but  upon  conditions.  For 
if  you  should  find  him  less  impudent,  and  I  more 
presuming — if  you  find  him  more  respectful,  and 
I  more  importunate — I  don't  know — the  fellow 
is  well  enough  for  a  man — Certainly,  we  don't 
meet  many  such  at  a  horse-race  in  the  country. 

Hard.     If  we  should  find  him  so But  that 's 

impossible.     The  first  appearance  has  done  my 
business.     I  'm  seldom  deceived  in  that. 

Miss  Hard.  And  yet  there  may  be  many  good 
qualities  under  that  first  appearance. 

Hard.  Ay,  when  a  girl  finds  a  fellow's  outside 
to  her  taste,  she  then  sets  about  guessing  the  rest 
of  his  furniture.  With  her,  a  smooth  face  stands 
for  good  sense,  and  a  genteel  figure  for  every  virtue. 

Miss  Hard.  I  hope,  Sir,  a  conversation  begun 
with  a  compliment  to  my  good  sense,  won't  end 
with  a  sneer  at  my  understanding? 

Hard.  Pardon  me,  Kate.  But  if  young  Mr. 
Brazen  can  find  the  art  of  reconciling  contradic- 
tions, he  may  please  us  both,  perhaps. 


58  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Miss  Hard.  And  as  one  of  us  must  be  mistaken, 
what  if  we  go  to  make  further  discoveries? 

Hard.  Agreed.  But  depend  on  't  I  'm  in  the 
right. 

Miss  Hard.  And  depend  on  't  I  'm  not  much 
in  the  wrong.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  TONY,  running  in  with  a  casket. 

Tony.  Ecod!  I  have  got  them.  Here  they  are. 
My  cousin  Con's  necklaces,  bobs  and  all.  My 
mother  shan't  cheat  the  poor  souls  out  of  their 
fortin  neither.  0!  my  genus  is  that  you? 

Enter  HASTINGS. 

Hast.  My  dear  friend,  how  have  you  managed 
with  your  mother?  I  hope  you  have  amused  her 
with  pretending  love  for  your  cousin,  and  that  you 
are  willing  to  be  reconciled  at  last  ?  Our  horses 
will  be  refreshed  in  a  short  time,  and  we  shall 
soon  be  ready  to  set  off. 

Tony.  And  here 's  something  to  bear  your 
charges  by  the  way  (giving  the  casket} ;  your  sweet- 
heart's jewels.  Keep  them  and  hang  those,  I  say, 
that  would  rob  you  of  one  of  them. 

Hast.  But  how  have  you  procured  them  from 
your  mother? 

Tony.    Ask  me  no  questions,  and  I  '11  tell  you 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  59 

no  fibs.  I  procured  them  by  the  rule  of  the  thumb. 
If  I  had  not  a  key  to  every  drawer  in  mother's 
bureau,  how  could  I  go  to  the  alehouse  so  often 
as  I  do?  An  honest  man  may  rob  himself  of  his 
own  at  any  time. 

Hast.  Thousands  do  it  every  day.  But  to  be 
plain  with  you;  Miss  Neville  is  endeavouring  to 
procure  them  from  her  aunt  this  very  instant.  If 
she  succeeds,  it  will  be  the  most  delicate  way  at 
least  of  obtaining  them. 

Tony.  Well,  keep  them,  till  you  know  how  it 
will  be.  But  I  know  how  it  will  be  well  enough; 
she  'd  as  soon  part  with  the  only  sound  tooth  in 
her  head. 

Hast.  But  I  dread  the  effects  of  her  resent- 
ment, when  she  finds  she  has  lost  them. 

Tony.  Never  you  mind  her  resentment,  leave 
me  to  manage  that.  I  don't  value  her  resentment 
the  bounce  of  a  cracker.  Zounds!  here  they  are. 
Morrice!  Prance!  [Exit  HASTINGS. 

TONY,  MRS.  HARDCASTLE,  and  Miss  NEVILLE. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Indeed,  Constance,  you  amaze 
me.  Such  a  girl  as  you  want  jewels!  It  will  be 
time  enough  for  jewels,  my  dear,  twenty  years 
hence,  when  your  beauty  begins  to  want  re- 
pairs. 


60  gbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Miss  Nev.  But  what  will  repair  beauty  at  forty, 
will  certainly  improve  it  at  twenty,  Madam. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Yours,  my  dear,  can  admit  of  none. 
That  natural  blush  is  beyond  a  thousand  orna- 
ments. Besides,  child,  jewels  are  quite  out  at 
present.  Don't  you  see  half  the  ladies  of  our 
acquaintance,  my  lady  Kill-day-light,  and  Mrs. 
Crump,  and  the  rest  of  them,  carry  their  jewels 
to  town,  and  bring  nothing  but  paste  and  mar- 
casites  back. 

Miss  Nev.  But  who  knows,  Madam,  but  some- 
body that  shall  be  nameless  would  like  me  best 
with  all  my  little  finery  about  me? 

Mrs.  Hard.  Consult  your  glass,  my  dear,  and 
then  see  if  with  such  a  pair  of  eyes,  you  want  any 
better  sparklers.  What  do  you  think,  Tony,  my 
dear?  does  your  cousin  Con  want  any  jewels  in 
your  eyes  to  set  off  her  beauty  ? 

Tony.    That 's  as  thereafter  may  be. 

Miss  Nev.  My  dear  aunt,  if  you  knew  how  it 
would  oblige  me. 

Mrs.  Hard.  A  parcel  of  old-fashioned  rose  and 
table-cut  things.  They  would  make  you  look  like 
the  court  of  King  Solomon  at  a  puppet-show. 
Besides,  I  believe,  I  can't  readily  come  at  them. 
They  may  be  missing,  for  aught  I  know  to  the 
contrary. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  61 

Tony.  (Apart  to  MRS.  HARDCASTLE.)  Then  why 
don't  you  tell  her  so  at  once,  as  she 's  so  longing  for 
them?  Tell  her  they  're  lost.  It 's  the  only  way 
to  quiet  her.  Say  they  're  lost,  and  call  me  to  bear 
witness. 

Mrs.  Hard.  (Apart  to  TONY.)  You  know,  my 
dear,  I  'm  only  keeping  them  for  you.  So  if  I  say 
they  're  gone,  you  '11  bear  me  witness,  will  you? 
He!  he!  he! 

Tony.  Never  fear  me.  Ecod!  I  '11  say  I  saw 
them  taken  out  with  my  own  eyes. 

Miss  Nev.  I  desire  them  but  for  a  day,  Madam. 
Just  to  be  permitted  to  show  them  as  relics,  and 
then  they  may  be  locked  up  again. 

Mrs.  Hard.  To  be  plain  with  you,  my  dear 
Constance,  if  I  could  find  them  you  should  have 
them.  They're  missing,  I  assure  you.  Lost,  for 
aught  I  know;  but  we  must  have  patience  wherever 
they  are. 

Miss  Nev.  I'll  not  believe  it!  this  is  but  a 
shallow  pretence  to  deny  me.  I  know  they  are 
too  valuable  to  be  so  slightly  kept,  and  as  you  are 
to  answer  for  the  loss — 

Mrs.  Hard.  Don't  be  alarmed,  Constance. 
If  they  be  lost,  I  must  restore  an  equivalent.  But 
my  son  knows  they  are  missing,  and  not  to  be 
found. 


62  sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Tony.  That  I  can  bear  witness  to.  They  are 
missing,  and  not  to  be  found;  I  '11  take  my  oath 
on't. 

Mrs.  Hard.  You  must  learn  resignation,  my 
dear;  for  though  we  lose  our  fortune,  yet  we  should 
not  lose  our  patience.  See  me,  how  calm  I 
am. 

Miss  Nev.  Ay,  people  are  generally  calm  at 
the  misfortunes  of  others. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Now  I  wonder  a  girl  of  your  good 
sense  should  waste  a  thought  upon  such  trumpery. 
We  shall  soon  find  them;  and  in  the  meantime  you 
shall  make  use  of  my  garnets  till  your  jewels  be 
found. 

Miss  Nev.     I  detest  garnets. 

Mrs.  Hard.  The  most  becoming  things  in  the 
world  to  set  off  a  clear  complexion.  You  have 
often  seen  how  well  they  look  upon  me.  You  shall 
have  them.  [Exit. 

Miss  Nev.  I  dislike  them  of  all  things.  You 
shan't  stir. — Was  ever  anything  so  provoking, 
to  mislay  my  own  jewels,  and  force  me  to  wear 
her  trumpery. 

Tony.  Don't  be  a  fool.  If  she  gives  you  the  gar- 
nets, take  what  you  can  get.  The  jewels  are  your 
own  already.  I  have  stolen  them  out  of  her  bureau, 
and  she  does  not  know  it.  Fly  to  your  spark, 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  63 

he  '11  tell  you  more  of  the  matter.  Leave  me  to 
manage  her. 

Miss  Nev.     My  dear  cousin! 

Tony.  Vanish.  She 's  here,  and  has  missed 
them  already.  [Exit  Miss  NEVILLE.]  Zounds! 
how  she  fidgets  and  spits  about  like  a  Catherine 
wheel. 

Enter  MRS.  HARDCASTLE. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Confusion!  thieves!  robbers!  we  are 
cheated,  plundered,  broke  open,  undone. 

Tony.  What 's  the  matter,  what 's  the  matter, 
Mamma?  I  hope  nothing  has  happened  to  any  of 
the  good  family! 

Mrs.  Hard.  We  are  robbed.  My  bureau  has 
been  broken  open,  the  jewels  taken  out  and  I  'm 
undone. 

Tony.  Oh!  is  that  all?  Ha!  ha!  ha!  By  the 
laws,  I  never  saw  it  acted  better  in  my  life. 
Ecod,  I  thought  you  was  ruined  in  earnest,  ha!  ha! 
ha! 

Mrs.  Hard.  Why,  boy,  I  am  ruined  in  earnest. 
My  bureau  has  been  broke  open,  and  all  taken 
away. 

Tony.  Stick  to  that:  ha!  ha!  ha!  stick  to  that. 
I  '11  bear  witness,  you  know;  call  me  to  bear  witness. 

Mrs.  Hard.     I  tell  you,  Tony,  by  all  that's 


64  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

precious,  the  jewels  are  gone,  and  I  shall  be  ruined 
for  ever. 

Tony.  Sure  I  know  they  are  gone,  and  I  am  to 
say  so. 

Mrs.  Hard.  My  dearest  Tony,  but  hear  me. 
They  're  gone,  I  say. 

Tony.  By  the  laws,  Mamma,  you  make  me  for 
to  laugh,  ha!  ha!  I  know  who  took  them  well 
enough,  ha!  ha!  ha! 

Mrs.  Hard.  Was  there  ever  such  a  blockhead, 
that  can't  tell  the  difference  between  jest  and 
earnest?  I  tell  you  I  'm  not  in  jest,  booby! 

Tony.  That 's  right,  that 's  right;  you  must  be 
in  a  bitter  passion,  and  then  nobody  will  suspect 
either  of  us.  1 11  bear  witness  that  they  are  gone. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Was  there  ever  such  a  cross- 
grained  brute,  that  won't  hear  me?  Can  you 
bear  witness  that  you  're  no  better  than  a  fool? 
Was  ever  poor  woman  so  beset  with  fools  on  one 
hand,  and  thieves  on  the  other? 

Tony.     I  can  bear  witness  to  that. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Bear  witness  again,  you  block- 
head, you,  and  I  '11  turn  you  out  of  the  room 
directly.  My  poor  niece,  what  will  become  of 
her?  Do  you  laugh,  you  unfeeling  brute,  as  if  you 
enjoyed  my  distress? 

Tony.     I  can  bear  witness  to  that. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  65 

Mrs.  Hard.     Do  you  insult  me,  monster?     I  '11 
teach  you  to  vex  your  mother,  I  will. 
Tony.     I  can  bear  witness  to  that. 

[He  runs  off,  she  follows  him. 

Enter  Miss  HARDCASTLE  and  Maid. 

Miss  Hard.  What  an  unaccountable  creature 
is  that  brother  of  mine,  to  send  them  to  the 
house  as  an  inn,  ha!  ha!  I  don't  wonder  at  his 
impudence. 

Maid.  But  what  is  more  Madam,  the  young 
gentleman,  as  you  passed  by  in  your  present  dress, 
asked  me  if  you  were  the  bar-maid?  He  mistook 
you  for  the  bar-maid,  Madam. 

Miss  Hard.  Did  he?  Then  as  I  live  I  'm  re- 
solved to  keep  up  the  delusion.  Tell  me,  Pimple, 
how  do  you  like  my  present  dress?  Don't  you 
think  I  look  something  like  Cherry  in  the  Bjauoc? 
Stratagem  ? 

Maid.  It 's  the  dress,  Madam,  that  every  lady 
wears  in  the  country,  but  when  she  visits  or  receives 
company. 

Miss  Hard.  And  are  you  sure  he  does  not 
remember  my  face  or  person? 

Maid.     Certain  of  it. 

Miss  Hard.  I  vow  I  thought  so;  for  though  we 
spoke  for  some  time  together,  yet  his  fears  were 


66  gbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

such,  that  he  never  once  looked  up  during  the  inter- 
view. Indeed,  if  he  had,  my  bonnet  would  have 
kept  him  from  seeing  me. 

Maid.  But  what  do  you  hope  from  keeping 
him  in  his  mistake? 

Miss  Hard.  In  the  first  place,  I  shall  be  seen, 
and  that  is  no  small  advantage  to  a  girl  who  brings 
her  face  to  market.  Then  I  shall  perhaps  make 
an  acquaintance,  and  that 's  no  small  victory 
gained  over  one  who  never  addresses  any  but  the 
wildest  of  her  sex.  But  my  chief  aim  is  to  take 
my  gentleman  off  his  guard,  and,  like  an  invisible 
champion  of  romance,  examine  the  giant's  force 
before  I  offer  to  combat. 

Maid.  But  you  are  sure  you  can  act  your  part, 
and  disguise  your  voice  so  that  he  may  mistake 
that,  as  he  has  already  mistaken  your  person  ? 

Miss  Hard.  Never  fear  me.  I  think  I  have 
got  the  true  bar  cant — Did  your  honour  call? — 
Attend  the  Lion  there — Pipes  and  tobacco  for  the 
Angel. — The  Lamb  has  been  outrageous  this  half 
hour. 

Maid.  It  will  do,  Madam.  But  he  's  here. 

[Exit  Maid. 

Enter  MARLOW. 
Marl.     What  a  bawling  in  every  part  of  the 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  67 

house!  I  have  scarce  a  moment's  repose;  if  I  go 
to  the  best  room,  there  I  find  my  host  and  his 
story;  if  I  fly  to  the  gallery,  there  we  have  my 
hostess  with  her  curtsey  down  to  the  ground.  I 
have  at  last  got  a  moment  to  myself,  and  now  for 
recollection.  [Walks  and  muses. 

Miss  Hard.  Did  you  call,  Sir  ?  Did  your  honour 
call? 

Marl.  (Musing.)  As  for  Miss  Hardcastle,  she  's 
too  grave  and  sentimental  for  me. 

Miss  Hard.     Did  your  honour  call? 
[She  still  places  herself  before  him,  he  turning  away. 

Marl.  No,  child  (musing).  Besides,  from  the 
glimpse  I  had  of  her,  I  think  she  squints. 

Miss  Hard.     I  'm  sure,  Sir,  I  heard  the  bell  ring. 

Marl.  No,  no  (musing).  I  have  pleased  my 
father,  however,  by  coming  down,  and  I  '11  to- 
morrow please  myself  by  returning. 

[Taking  out  his  tablets  and  perusing. 

Miss  Hard.  Perhaps  the  other  gentleman 
called,  Sir? 

Marl.     I  tell  you,  no. 

Miss  Hard.  I  should  be  glad  to  know,  Sir.  We 
have  such  a  parcel  of  servants! 

Marl.  No,  no,  I  tell  you  (looks  full  in  her  face). 
Yes,  child,  I  think  I  did  call.  I  wanted — I  wanted 
— I  vow,  child,  you  are  vastly  handsome. 


68  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Miss  Hard.    O  la,  Sir,  you  11  make  one  ashamed. 

Marl.  Never  saw  a  more  sprightly,  malicious 
eye.  Yes,  yes,  my  dear,  I  did  call.  Have  you 
got  any  of  your — a — what  d'  ye  call  it  in  the  house  ? 

Miss  Hard.  No,  Sir;  we  have  been  out  of  that 
these  ten  days. 

Marl.  One  may  call  in  this  house,  I  find,  to 
very  little  purpose.  Suppose  I  should  call  for  a 
taste,  just  by  way  of  trial,  of  the  nectar  of  your 
lips;  perhaps  I  might  be  disappointed  in  that 
too. 

Miss  Hard.  Nectar!  nectar!  That 's  a  liquor 
there  's  no  call  for  in  these  parts.  French,  I  sup- 
pose. We  keep  no  French  wines  here,  Sir. 

Marl.     Of  true  English  growth,  I  assure  you. 

Miss  Hard.  Then  it 's  odd  I  should  not  know 
it.  We  brew  all  sorts  of  wines  in  this  house,  and  I 
have  lived  here  these  eighteen  years. 

Marl.  Eighteen  years!  Why,  one  would  think, 
child,  you  kept  the  bar  before  you  were  born.  How 
old  are  you? 

Miss  Hard.  O!  Sir,  I  must  not  tell  my  age. 
They  say  women  and  music  should  never  be  dated. 

Marl.  To  guess  at  this  distance,  you  can't 
be  much  above  forty  (approaching).  Yet  nearer 
I  don't  think  so  much  (approaching).  By  coming 
closer  to  some  women,  they  look  younger  still; 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  69 

but  when  we  come  very  close  indeed — (attempting 
to  kiss  her.) 

Miss  Hard.  Pray,  Sir,  keep  your  distance.  One 
would  think  you  wanted  to  know  one's  age  as  they 
do  horses,  by  mark  of  mouth. 

Marl.  I  protest,  child,  you  use  me  extremely 
ill.  If  you  keep  me  at  this  distance,  how  is  it  pos- 
sible you  and  I  can  ever  be  acquainted? 

Miss  Hard.  And  who  wants  to  be  acquainted 
with  you?  I  want  no  such  acquaintance,  not  I. 
I  'm  sure  you  did  not  treat  Miss  Hardcastle,  that 
was  here  awhile  ago,  in  this  obstropalous  manner. 
I  '11  warrant  me,  before  her  you  looked  dashed, 
and  kept  bowing  to  the  ground,  and  talked,  for  all 
the  world,  as  if  you  was  before  a  justice  of  the 
peace. 

Marl.  (Aside.)  Egad,  she  has  hit  it,  sure 
enough!  (To  her)  In  awe  of  her,  child?  Ha!  ha! 
ha!  A  mere  awkward  squinting  thing;  no,  no. 
I  find  you  don't  know  me.  I  laughed  and  rallied 
her  a  little;  but  I  was  unwilling  to  be  too  severe. 
No,  I  could  not  be  too  severe,  curse  me! 

Miss  Hard.  O!  then,  Sir,  you  are  a  favourite, 
I  find,  among  the  ladies? 

Marl.  Yes,  my  dear,  a  great  favourite.  And 
yet  hang  me,  I  don't  see  what  they  find  in  me  to 
follow.  At  the  Ladies'  Club  in  town  I  'm  call'd 


70  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

their  agreeable  Rattle.  Rattle,  child,  is  not  my 
real  name,  but  one  I  'm  known  by.  My  name  is 
Solomons;  Mr.  Solomons,  my  dear,  at  your  service. 
(Offering  to  salute  her.) 

Miss  Hard.  Hold,  Sir,  you  are  introducing  me 
to  your  club,  not  to  yourself.  And  you  're  so  great 
a  favourite  there,  you  say? 

Marl.  Yes,  my  dear.  There  's  Mrs.  Mantrap, 
Lady  Betty  Blackleg,  the  Countess  of  Sligo,  Mrs. 
Langhorns,  old  Miss  Biddy  Buckskin,1  and  your 
humble  servant,  keep  up  the  spirit  of  the 
place. 

Miss  Hard.  Then  it  is  a  very  merry  place,  I 
I  suppose? 

Marl.  Yes,  as  merry  as  cards,  supper,  wine,  and 
old  women  can  make  us. 

Miss  Hard.  And  their  agreeable  Rattle,  ha! 
ha!  ha! 

Marl.  (Aside.)  Egad!  I  don't  quite  like  this 
chit.  She  looks  knowing,  methinks.  You  laugh, 
child? 


1  The  allusion  here  was  to  an  actual  club  (the  "  Albemarle 
Street")  recently  established,  of  which  ladies  as  well  as  gentlemen 
were  privileged  to  be  members,  and  the  introduction  of  Miss  Biddy 
Buckskin  was  resented  by  Horace  Walpole  and  others  belonging  to 
the  club  as  an  attack  on  their  friend  and  fellow-member,  Miss 
Lloyd.  Goldsmith,  in  the  manuscript  of  the  comedy,  and  on  the 
early  nights  of  its  performance,  used  Miss  Lloyd's  name,  Rachael, 
but  altered  it  in  the  printed  copies.  See  the  Letters  of  Walpole 
and  Lady  Ossory,  vol.  i.,  p.  60. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  71 

Miss  Hard.  I  can't  but  laugh,  to  think  what 
time  they  all  have  for  minding  their  work  or  their 
family. 

Marl.  (Aside.)  All 's  well;  she  don't  laugh  at 
me.  (To  her.)  Do  you  ever  work,  child? 

Miss  Hard.  Ay,  sure.  There  's  not  a  screen 
or  a  quilt  in  the  whole  house  but  what  can  bear 
witness  to  that. 

Marl.  Odso!  then  you  must  show  me  your 
embroidery.  I  embroider  and  draw  patterns  my- 
self a  little.  If  you  want  a  judge  of  your  work, 
you  must  apply  to  me.  (Seizing  her  hand.) 

Miss  Hard.  Ay,  but  the  colours  do  not  look 
well  by  candle-light.  You  shall  see  all  in  the 
morning.  (Struggling.) 

Marl.  And  why  not  now,  my  angel?  Such 
beauty  fires  beyond  the  powers  of  resistance. — • 
Pshaw!  the  father  here!  My  old  luck:  I  never 
nicked  seven  that  I  did  not  throw  ames  ace  three 
times  following.  [Exit  MARLOW. 

Enter  HARDCASTLE,  who  stands  in  surprise. 

Hard.  So,  Madam.  So  I  find  this  is  your 
modest  lover.  This  is  your  humble  admirer,  that 
kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  and  only  adored 
at  humble  distance.  Kate,  Kate,  art  thou  not 
ashamed  to  deceive  your  father  so  ? 


72  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Miss  Hard.  Never  trust  me,  dear  Papa,  but 
he  's  still  the  modest  man  I  first  took  him  for; 
you  '11  be  convinced  of  it  as  well  as  I. 

Hard.  By  the  hand  of  my  body,  I  believe  his 
impudence  is  infectious!  Did  n't  I  see  him  seize 
your  hand?  Did  n't  I  see  him  haul  you  about  like 
a  milk-maid?  And  now  you  talk  of  his  respect 
and  his  modesty,  forsooth! 

Miss  Hard.  But  if  I  shortly  convince  you  of 
his  modesty,  that  he  has  only  faults  that  will  pass 
off  with  time,  and  the  virtues  that  will  improve 
with  age,  I  hope  you  '11  forgive  him. 

Hard.  The  girl  would  actually  make  one  run 
mad!  I  tell  you  1 11  not  be  convinced.  I  am  con- 
vinced. He  has  scarcely  been  three  hours  in  the 
house,  and  he  has  already  encroached  on  all  my 
prerogatives.  You  may  like  his  impudence,  and 
call  it  modesty;  but  my  son-in-law,  Madam,  must 
have  very  different  qualifications. 

Miss  Hard.  Sir,  I  ask  but  this  night  to  convince 
you. 

Hard.  You  shall  not  have  half  the  time,  for  I 
have  thoughts  of  turning  them  out  this  very 
hour. 

Miss  Hard.  Give  me  that  hour  then,  and  I 
hope  to  satisfy  you. 

Hard.     Well,  an  hour  let  it  be  then.     But  I  '11 


.fit 

mudoD  noaqmiZ 


yd  gniwcib  9riJ  movl 


but 
him  for; 


seize 
you;  ut  like 


convii  u  of 

5  that  will  pass 

improve 

run 

I  am  con- 

-.ours  in  the 

hed  on  all  my 

•dence,  and 
a,  must 

nvince 

very 

Give  me  .  and  I 

Well,  an  he-  But  I  'U 

Miss  Hardcastle.—"  Did  you  call,  sir  ?" 

?ict  iff. 

From  the  drawing  by  Frederick  Simpson  Coburn 


Sbc  Stoops  to  Conquer  73 

have  no  trifling  with  your  father.     All  fair  and 
open,  do  you  mind  me? 

Miss  Hard.  I  hope,  Sir,  you  have  ever  found 
that  I  considered  your  commands  as  my  pride; 
for  your  kindness  is  such,  that  my  duty  as  yet  has 
been  inclination.  [Exeunt. 


© 


ACT  THE  FOURTH 

Enter  HASTINGS  and  Miss  NEVILLE. 

Hast.  You  surprise  me;  Sir  Charles  Marlow 
expected  here  this  night!  Where  have  you  had 
your  information? 

Miss  Nev.  You  may  depend  upon  it.  I  just 
saw  his  letter  to  Mr.  Hardcastle,  in  which  he  tells 
him  he  intends  setting  out  a  few  hours  after  his  son. 

Hast.  Then,  my  Constance,  all  must  be  com- 
pleted before  he  arrives.  He  knows  me;  and 
should  he  find  me  here,  would  discover  my  name, 
and  perhaps  my  designs,  to  the  rest  of  the  family. 

Miss  Nev.    The  jewels,  I  hope,  are  safe? 

Hast.  Yes,  yes.  I  have  sent  them  to  Marlow, 
who  keeps  the  keys  of  our  baggage.  In  the  mean 
time  I  '11  go  to  prepare  matters  for  our  elopement. 
I  have  had  the  'squire's  promise  of  a  fresh  pair  of 
horses;  and  if  I  should  not  see  him  again,  will  write 
him  further  directions.  [Exit. 

Miss  Nev.     Well!  success  attend  you.     In  the 

74 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  75 

mean  time  I  '11  go  and  amuse  my  aunt  with  the  old 
pretence  of  a  violent  passion  for  my  cousin.     [Exit. 

Enter  MARLOW,  followed  by  a  Servant. 

Marl.  I  wonder  what  Hastings  could  mean 
by  sending  me  so  valuable  a  thing  as  a  casket  to 
keep  for  him,  when  he  knows  the  only  place  I  have 
is  the  seat  of  a  post-coach  at  an  inn  door.  Have 
you  deposited  the  casket  with  the  landlady,  as  I 
ordered  you?  Have  you  put  it  into  her  own 
hands? 

Ser.    Yes,  your  honour. 

Marl.     She  said  she  'd  keep  it  safe,  did  she? 

Ser.  Yes,  she  said  she  'd  keep  it  safe  enough; 
she  asked  me  how  I  came  by  it,  and  she  said  she 
had  a  great  mind  to  make  me  give  an  account  of 
myself.  [Exit  Servant. 

Marl.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  They  're  safe,  however. 
What  an  unaccountable  set  of  beings  have  we  got 
amongst!  This  little  bar-maid  though  runs  in  my 
head  most  strangely,  and  drives  out  the  absurd- 
ities of  all  the  rest  of  the  family.  She  's  mine, 
she  must  be  mine,  or  I  'm  greatly  mistaken. 

Enter  HASTINGS. 
Hast.     Bless  me!   I  quite  forgot  to  tell  her  that 


76  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

I  intended  to  prepare  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden. 
Marlow  here,  and  in  spirits  too! 

Marl.  Give  me  joy,  George.  Crown  me, 
shadow  me  with  laurels!  Well,  George,  after  all, 
we  modest  fellows  don't  want  for  success  among 
the  women. 

Hast.  Some  women,  you  mean.  But  what 
success  has  your  honour's  modesty  been  crowned 
with  now,  that  it  grows  so  insolent  upon  us? 

Marl.  Did  n't  you  see  the  tempting,  brisk, 
lovely  little  thing,  that  runs  about  the  house  with 
a  bunch  of  keys  to  its  girdle? 

Hast.     Well,  and  what  then? 

Marl.  She  's  mine,  you  rogue  you.  Such  fire, 
such  motion,  such  eyes,  such  lips;  but, — egad!  she 
would  not  let  me  kiss  them  though. 

Hast.     But  are  you  sure,  so  very  sure  of  her? 

Marl.  Why,  man,  she  talked  of  showing  me 
her  work  above  stairs,  and  I  am  to  improve  the 
pattern. 

Hast.  But  how  can  you,  Charles,  go  about  to 
rob  a  woman  of  her  honour? 

Marl.  Pshaw!  pshaw!  We  all  know  the  hon- 
our of  the  bar-maid  of  an  inn.  I  don't  intend  to 
rob  her,  take  my  word  for  it;  there  's  nothing  in 
this  house  I  shan't  honestly  pay  for. 

Hast.     I  believe  the  girl  has  virtue. 


Sbe  Stoopa  to  Conquer  77 

Marl.  And  if  she  has,  I  should  be  the  last  man 
in  the  world  that  would  attempt  to  corrupt 
it. 

Hast.  You  have  taken  care,  I  hope,  of  the 
casket  I  sent  you  to  lock  up?  It 's  in  safety? 

Marl.  Yes,  yes.  It 's  safe  enough.  I  have 
taken  care  of  it.  But  how  could  you  think  the 
seat  of  a  post-coach  at  an  inn-door  a  place  of 
safety?  Ah!  numskull!  I  have  taken  better 

precautions  for  you  than  you  did  for  yourself 

I  have 

Hast.     What? 

Marl.  I  have  sent  it  to  the  landlady  to  keep 
for  you. 

Hast.    To  the  landlady! 

Marl.     The  landlady. 

Hast.    You  did? 

Marl.  I  did.  She  's  to  be  answerable  for  its 
forthcoming,  you  know. 

Hast.     Yes,  she  '11  bring  it  forth  with  a  witness. 

Marl.  Was  n't  I  right?  I  believe  you  '11  allow 
that  I  acted  prudently  upon  this  occasion. 

Hast.  (Aside.)     He  must  not  see  my  uneasiness. 

Marl.  You  seem  a  little  disconcerted  though, 
methinks.  Sure  nothing  has  happened? 

Hast.  No,  nothing.  Never  was  in  better  spir- 
its in  all  my  life.  And  so  you  left  it  with  the  land- 


78  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

lady,  who,  no  doubt,  very  readily  undertook  the 
charge. 

Marl.  Rather  too  readily.  For  she  not  only 
kept  the  casket,  but,  through  her  great  precaution, 
was  going  to  keep  the  messenger  too.  Ha!  ha! 
ha! 

Hast.     He!  he!  he!    They  're  safe,  however. 

Marl.    As  a  guinea  in  a  miser's  purse. 

Hast.  (Aside.)  So  now  all  hopes  of  fortune 
are  at  an  end,  and  we  must  set  off  without  it.  (To 
him.)  Well,  Charles,  I  '11  leave  you  to  your  med- 
itations on  the  pretty  barmaid,  and,  he!  he!  he! 
may  you  be  as  successful  for  yourself,  as  you  have 
been  for  me!  [Exit. 

Marl.  Thank  ye,  George:  I  ask  no  more.  Ha! 
ha!  ha! 

Enter  HARDCASTLE. 

Hard.  I  no  longer  know  my  own  house.  It 's 
turned  all  topsy-turvy.  His  servants  have  got 
drunk  already.  I  '11  bear  it  no  longer;  and  yet, 
from  my  respect  for  his  father,  I  '11  be  calm.  (To 
him.)  Mr.  Marlow,  your  servant.  I  'm  your  very- 
humble  servant.  (Bowing  low.) 

Marl.     Sir,    your    humble    servant.     (Aside.) 
What 's  to  be  the  wonder  now? 

Hard.     I  believe,  Sir,  you  must  be  sensible,  Sir, 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  ;9 

that  no  man  alive  ought  to  be  more  welcome 
than  your  father's  son,  Sir.  I  hope  you  think 
so? 

Marl.  I  do  from  my  soul,  Sir.  I  don't  want 
much  entreaty.  I  generally  make  my  father's 
son  welcome  wherever  he  goes. 

Hard.  I  believe  you  do,  from  my  soul,  Sir.  But 
though  I  say  nothing  to  your  conduct,  that  of  your 
servants  is  insufferable.  Their  manner  of  drink- 
ing is  setting  a  very  bad  example  in  this  house,  I 
assure  you. 

Marl.  I  protest,  my  very  good  Sir,  that  is  no 
fault  of  mine.  If  they  don't  drink  as  they  ought, 
they  are  to  blame.  I  ordered  them  not  to  spare 
the  cellar.  I  did,  I  assure  you.  (To  the  side- 
scene.)  Here,  let  one  of  my  servants  come  up. 
(To  him.)  My  positive  directions  were,  that  as 
I  did  not  drink  myself,  they  should  make  up  for 
my  deficiencies  below. 

Hard.  Then  they  had  your  orders  for  what 
they  do?  I  'm  satisfied! 

Marl.  They  had,  I  assure  you.  You  shall  hear 
from  one  of  themselves. 

Enter  Servant,  drunk. 

Marl.  You,  Jeremy!  Come  forward,  sirrah! 
What  were  my  orders  ?  Were  you  not  told  to  drink 


Stoops  to  Conquer 

freely,  and  call  for  what  you  thought  fit,  for  the 
good  of  the  house? 

Hard.     (Aside.)     I  begin  to  lose  my  patience. 

Jer.  Please  your  honour,  liberty  and  Fleet 
Street  for  ever!  Though  I  'm  but  a  servant,  I  'm 
as  good  as  another  man.  I  '11  drink  for  no  man 
before  supper,  Sir,  damme!  Good  liquor  will  sit 
upon  a  good  supper,  but  a  good  supper  will 

not  sit  upon hiccup upon  my  conscience, 

Sir. 

Marl.  You  see,  my  old  friend,  the  fellow  is  as 
drunk  as  he  can  possibly  be.  I  don't  know  what 
you  'd  have  more,  unless  you  'd  have  the  poor 
devil  soused  in  a  beer-barrel. 

Hard.  Zounds!  he  11  drive  me  distracted,  if 
I  contain  myself  any  longer.  Mr.  Mario w — Sir; 
I  have  submitted  to  your  insolence  for  more  than 
four  hours,  and  I  see  no  likelihood  of  its  coming 
to  an  end.  I  'm  now  resolved  to  be  master  here, 
Sir;  and  I  desire  that  you  and  your  drunken  pack 
may  leave  my  house  directly. 

Marl.    Leave  your  house! Sure  you  jest, 

my  good  friend!     What?  when  I  'm  doing  what 
I  can  to  please  you. 

Hard.  I  tell  you,  Sir,  you  don't  please  me;  so 
I  desire  you  '11  leave  my  house. 

Marl.    Sure  you  cannot  be  serious?  at  this  time 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  81 

o'  night,  and  such  a  night?    You  only  mean  to 
banter  me.  • 

Hard.  I  tell  you,  Sir,  I  'm  serious!  And  now 
that  my  passions  are  roused,  I  say  this  house  is 
mine,  and  I  command  you  to  leave  it  directly. 

Marl.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  A  puddle  in  a  storm.  I 
shan't  stir  a  step,  I  assure  you. — (In  a  serious 
tone.)  This  your  house,  fellow!  It 's  my  house. 
This  is  my  house.  Mine,  while  I  choose  to  stay. 
What  right  have  you  to  bid  me  leave  this  house, 
Sir?  I  never  met  with  such  impudence,  curse  me; 
never  in  my  whole  life  before. 

Hard.  Nor  I,  confound  me  if  I  ever  did.  To 
come  to  my  house,  to  call  for  what  he  likes,  to  turn 
me  out  of  my  own  chair,  to  insult  the  family,  to 
order  his  servants  to  get  drunk,  and  then  to  tell 
me,  "  This  house  is  mine,  Sir."  By  all  that 's  im- 
pudent it  makes  me  laugh.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Pray, 
Sir  (banteringly) ,  as  you  take  the  house,  what  think 
you  of  taking  the  rest  of  the  furniture?  There  's 
a  pair  of  silver  candlesticks,  and  there  's  a  fire- 
screen, and  here  's  a  pair  of  brazen-nosed  bellows; 
perhaps  you  may  take  a  fancy  to  them. 

Marl.  Bring  me  your  bill,  Sir;  bring  me 
your  bill,  and  let 's  make  no  more  words  about 
it. 

Hard.    There  are  a  set  of  prints,  too.     What 


82  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

think  you  of  the  Rake's  Progress,  for  your  own 
apartment? 

Marl.  Bring  me  your  bill,  I  say;  and  I  '11  leave 
you  and  your  infernal  house  directly. 

Hard.  Then  there  's  a  mahogany  table  that 
you  may  see  your  own  face  in. 

Marl.     My  bill,  I  say. 

Hard.  I  had  forgot  the  great  chair  for  your 
own  particular  slumbers,  after  a  hearty  meal. 

Marl.  Zounds!  bring  me  my  bill,  I  say,  and 
let 's  hear  no  more  on  't. 

Hard.  Young  man,  young  man,  from  your 
father's  letter  to  me,  I  was  taught  to  expect  a  well- 
bred  modest  man  as  a  visitor  here,  but  now  I  find 
him  no  better  than  a  coxcomb  and  a  bully;  but  he 
will  be  down  here  presently,  and  shall  hear  more 
of  it.  [Exit 

Marl.  How  's  this?  Sure  I  have  not  mistaken 
the  house.  Everything  looks  like  an  inn;  the  ser- 
vants cry,  "  Coming  ";  the  attendance  is  awkward; 
the  barmaid,  too,  to  attend  us.  But  she  's  here, 
and  will  further  inform  me.  Whither  so  fast, 
child?  A  word  with  you. 

Enter  Miss  HARDCASTLE. 

Miss  Hard.  Let  it  be  short,  then.  I  'm  in  a 
hurry.  (Aside.)  I  believe  he  begins  to  find  out 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  83 

his  mistake.  But  it 's  too  soon  quite  to  undeceive 
him. 

Marl.  Pray,  child,  answer  me  one  question. 
What  are  you,  and  what  may  be  your  business  in 
this  house  ? 

Miss  Hard.    A  relation  of  the  family,  Sir. 

Marl.     What!  a  poor  relation? 

Miss  Hard.  Yes,  Sir;  a  poor  relation,  appointed 
to  keep  the  keys,  and  to  see  that  the  guests  want 
nothing  in  my  power  to  give  them. 

Marl.  That  is,  you  act  as  the  barmaid  of  this 
inn. 

Miss  Hard.  Inn!  O  law what  brought  that 

in  your  head?  One  of  the  best  families  in  the 
country  keep  an  inn — Ha!  ha!  ha!  old  Mr.  Hard- 
castle's  house  an  inn! 

Marl.  Mr.  Hardcastle's  house!  Is  this  Mr. 
Hardcastle's  house,  child? 

Miss  Hard.    Ay,  sure !     Whose  else  should  it  be  ? 

Marl.  So  then,  all 's  out,  and  I  have  been 
damnably  imposed  on.  0,  confound  my  stupid 
head,  I  shall  be  laughed  at  over  the  whole  town. 
I  shall  be  stuck  up  in  caricatura  in  all  the  print- 
shops.  The  Dullissimo-Maccaroni.  To  mistake 
this  house  of  all  others  for  an  inn,  and  my  father's 
old  friend  for  an  innkeeper!  What  a  swaggering 
puppy  must  he  take  me  for!  What  a  silly  puppy 


84  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

do  I  find  myself!  There,  again,  may  I  be  hang'd, 
my  dear,  but  I  mistook  you  for  the  barmaid. 

Miss  Hard.  Dear  me!  dear  me!  I  'm  sure 
there  's  nothing  in  my  behaviour  to  put  me  on  a 
level  with  one  of  that  stamp. 

Marl.  Nothing,  my  dear,  nothing.  But  I  was 
in  for  a  list  of  blunders,  and  could  not  help  making 
you  a  subscriber.  My  stupidity  saw  everything 
the  wrong  way.  I  mistook  your  assiduity  for 
assurance,  and  your  simplicity  for  allurement. 
But  it 's  over — This  house  I  no  more  show  my 
face  in. 

Miss  Hard.  I  hope,  Sir,  I  have  done  nothing 
to  disoblige  you.  I  'm  sure  I  should  be  sorry  to 
affront  any  gentleman  who  has  been  so  polite,  and 
said  so  many  civil  things  to  me.  I  'm  sure  I 
should  be  sorry  (pretending  to  cry)  if  he  left  the 
family  on  my  account.  I'm  sure  I  should  be 
sorry  people  said  anything  amiss,  since  I  have  no 
fortune  but  my  character. 

Marl.  (Aside.)  By  Heaven!  she  weeps.  This 
is  the  first  mark  of  tenderness  I  ever  had  from  a 
modest ,  woman,  and  it  touches  me.  (To  her.) 
Excuse  me,  my  lovely  girl;  you  are  the  only  part 
of  the  family  I  leave  with  reluctance.  But  to  be 
plain  with  you,  the  difference  of  our  birth,  for- 
tune, and  education,  makes  an  honourable  con- 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  85 

nection  impossible;  and  I  can  never  harbour  a 
thought  of  seducing  simplicity  that  trusted  in  my 
honour,  of  bringing  ruin  upon  one,  whose  only 
fault  was  being  too  lovely. 

Miss  Hard.  (Aside.)  Generous  man!  I  now 
begin  to  admire  him. — (To  him.)  But  I  am  sure 
my  family  is  as  good  as  Miss  Hardcastle's;  and 
though  I  'm  poor,  that 's  no  great  misfortune  to 
a  contented  mind;  and  until  this  moment,  I 
never  thought  that  it  was  bad  to  want  fortune. 

Marl.    And  why  now,  my  pretty  simplicity? 

Miss  Hard.  Because  it  puts  me  at  a  distance 
from  one,  that,  if  I  had  a  thousand  pounds,  I 
would  give  it  all  to. 

Marl.  (Aside.)  This  simplicity  bewitches  me, 
so  that  if  I  stay,  I  'm  undone.  I  must  make  one 
bold  effort,  and  leave  her. — (To  her.)  Your  par- 
tiality in  my  favour,  my  dear,  touches  me  most 
sensibly:  and  were  I  to  live  for  myself  alone,  I 
could  easily  fix  my  choice.  But  I  owe  too  much 
to  the  opinion  of  the  world,  too  much  to  the  au- 
thority of  a  father;  so  that — I  can  scarcely  speak 
it — it  affects  me.  Farewell.  [Exit. 

Miss  Hard.  I  never  knew  half  his  merit  till 
now.  He  shall  not  go,  if  I  have  power  or  art  to 
detain  him.  I  '11  still  preserve  the  character  in 
which  I  stooped  to  conquer,  but  will  undeceive  my 


86  gfoe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

papa,  who  perhaps  may  laugh  him  out  of  his 
resolution.  [Exit. 

Enter  TONY,  Miss  NEVILLE. 

Tony.  Ay,  you  may  steal  for  yourselves  the 
next  time.  I  have  done  my  duty.  She  has  got 
the  jewels  again,  that 's  a  sure  thing;  but  she 
believes  it  was  all  a  mistake  of  the  servants. 

Miss  Nev.  But,  my  dear  cousin,  sure  you 
won't  forsake  us  in  this  distress?  If  she  in  the 
least  suspects  that  I  am  going  off,  I  shall  certainly 
be  locked  up,  or  sent  to  my  Aunt  Pedigree's,  which 
is  ten  times  worse. 

Tony.  To  be  sure,  aunts  of  all  kinds  are  damned 
bad  things.  But  what  can  I  do  ?  I  have  got  you 
a  pair  of  horses  that  will  fly  like  Whistle- jacket; 
and  I  'm  sure  you  can't  say  but  I  have  courted 
you  nicely  before  her  face.  Here  she  comes,  we 
must  court  a  bit  or  two  more,  for  fear  she  should 
suspect  us.  [They  retire  and  seem  to  fondle. 

Enter  MRS.  HARDCASTLE. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Well,  I  was  greatly  fluttered,  to  be 
sure.  But  my  son  tells  me  it  was  all  a  mistake  of 
the  servants.  I  shan't  be  easy,  however,  till  they 
are  fairly  married,  and  then  let  her  keep  her  own 
fortune.  But  what  do  I  see?  fondling  together, 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  87 

as  I  'm  alive.  I  never  saw  Tony  so  sprightly 
before.  Ah!  have  I  caught  you,  my  pretty 
doves?  What,  billing,  exchanging  stolen  glances, 
and  broken  murmurs?  Ah! 

Tony.  As  for  murmurs,  mother,  we  grumble 
a  little  now  and  then  to  be  sure.  But  there  's  no 
love  lost  between  us. 

Mrs.  Hard.  A  mere  sprinkling,  Tony,  upon  the 
flame,  only  to  make  it  burn  brighter. 

Miss  Nev.  Cousin  Tony  promises  to  give  us 
more  of  his  company  at  home.  Indeed,  he  shan't 
leave  us  any  more.  It  won't  leave  us,  Cousin 
Tony,  will  it? 

Tony.  O!  it 's  a  pretty  creature.  No,  I  'd 
sooner  leave  my  horse  in  a  pound,  than  leave  you 
when  you  smile  upon  one  so.  Your  laugh  makes 
you  so  becoming. 

Miss  Nev.  Agreeable  cousin!  Who  can  help 
admiring  that  natural  humour,  that  pleasant, 
broad,  red,  thoughtless — (patting  his  cheek)  ah! 
it 's  a  bold  face. 

Mrs.  Hard.     Pretty  innocence! 

Tony.  I  'm  sure  I  always  loved  cousin  Con's 
hazel  eyes,  and  her  pretty  long  fingers,  that  she 
twists  this  way  and  that  over  the  haspicholls,  like 
a  parcel  of  bobbins. 

Mrs.   Hard.    Ah,    he  would    charm  the   bird 


88  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

from  the  tree.  I  was  never  so  happy  before.  My 
boy  takes  after  his  father,  poor  Mr.  Lumpkin,  ex- 
actly. The  jewels,  my  dear  Con,  shall  be  yours 
incontinently.  You  shall  have  them.  Isn't  he  a 
sweet  boy,  my  dear?  You  shall  be  married  to- 
morrow, and  we  '11  put  off  the  rest  of  his  education, 
like  Dr.  Drowsy 's  sermons,  to  a  fitter  opportunity. 

Enter  DIGGORY. 

Dig.  Where  's  the  Squire?  I  have  got  a  letter 
for  your  worship. 

Tony.  Give  it  to  my  mamma.  She  reads  all 
my  letters  first. 

Dig.  I  had  orders  to  deliver  it  into  your  own 
hands. 

Tony.     Who  does  it  come  from  ? 

Dig.  Your  worship  mun  ask  that  o'  the  letter 
itself. 

Tony.  I  could  wish  to  know  though  (turning 
the  letter  and  gazing  on  it.). 

Miss  Nev.  (Aside.)  Undone!  undone!  A  let- 
ter to  him  from  Hastings.  I  know  the  hand.  If 
my  aunt  sees  it,  we  are  ruined  for  ever.  I  '11  keep 
her  employed  a  little  if  I  can.  (To  MRS.  HARD- 
CASTLE.)  But  I  have  not  told  you,  Madam,  of 
my  cousin's  smart  answer  just  now  to  Mr.  Marlow. 
We  so  laughed. — You  must  know,  Madam. — This 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  89 

way  a  little,  for  he  must  not  hear  us. 

[They  confer. 

Tony.  (Still  gazing.)  A  damn'd  cramp  piece 
of  penmanship,  as  ever  I  saw  in  my  life.  I  can 
read  your  print  hand  very  well.  But  here  there 
are  such  handles,  and  shanks,  and  dashes,  that 
one  can  scarce  tell  the  head  from  the  tail.  "To 
Anthony  Lumpkin,  Esquire."  It 's  very  odd, 
I  can  read  the  outside  of  my  letters,  where  my 
own  name  is,  well  enough.  But  when  I  come  to 

open  it,  it 's  all buzz.     That 's  hard,  very  hard; 

for  the  inside  of  the  letter  is  always  the  cream 
of  the  correspondence. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Very  well,  very  well. 
And  so  my  son  was  too  hard  for  the  philosopher. 

Miss  Nev.  Yes,  Madam;  but  you  must  hear  the 
rest,  Madam.  A  little  more  this  way,  or  he  may 
hear  us.  You  11  hear  how  he  puzzled  him  again. 

Mrs.  Hard.  He  seems  strangely  puzzled  now, 
himself,  methinks. 

Tony.  (Still  gazing.)  A  damn'd  up  and  down 
hand,  as  if  it  was  disguised  in  liquor. — (Reading.) 
"  Dear  Sir,"— ay,  that 's  that.  Then  there  's  an 
M  and  a  T,  and  an  S,  but  whether  the  next  be 
an  izzard,  or  an  R,  confound  me,  I  cannot  tell. 

Mrs.  Hard.  What 's  that,  my  dear?  Can  I 
give  you  any  assistance? 


90  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Miss  Nev.  Pray,  Aunt,  let  me  read  it.  No- 
body reads  a  cramp  hand  better  than  I.  (Twitch- 
ing the  letter  from  him.)  Do  you  know  who  it  is 
from? 

Tony.  Can't  tell,  except  from  Dick  Ginger, 
the  feeder. 

Miss  Nev.  Ay,  so  it  is  (pretending  to  read.) 
"  Dear  Squire,  hoping  that  you  're  in  health,  as  I 
am  at  this  present.  The  gentleman  of  the  Shake- 
bag  club  has  cut  the  gentlemen  of  goose-green 

quite  out  of  feather.  The  odds um odd 

battle — long  fighting — um — "  Here,  here,  it 's  all 
about  cocks  and  fighting;  it 's  of  no  consequence, 
here,  put  it  up,  put  it  up.  (Thrusting  the  crumpled 
letter  upon  him.) 

Tony.  But  I  tell  you,  miss,  it 's  of  all  the  con- 
sequence in  the  world.  I  would  not  lose  the  rest 
of  it  for  a  guinea.  Here,  mother,  do  you  make  it 
out.  Of  no  consequence!  (Giving  MRS.  HARD- 
CASTLE  the  letter.) 

Mrs.  Hard.  How's  this?— (foods.)  "Dear 
Squire,  I  'm  now  waiting  for  Miss  Neville,  with  a 
post-chaise  and  pair,  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden, 
but  I  find  my  horses  yet  unable  to  perform  the 
journey.  I  expect  you  '11  assist  us  with  a  pair  of 
fresh  horses,  as  you  promised.  Dispatch  is 
necessary,  as  the  hag  (ay,  the  hag)  your  mother, 


ym  <won  Jon  ydw  bnA " — 

toE 

mudoD  noeqmi2  ^bhsbaiH  yd 


Stoopa  to  Conquer 

read  it.     No- 

np  lv  in  I      (Twitch- 

10  it  is 


mger, 


Squi 

but  I  find 
journey.     J 

i    horses,    a 
necessary,  as  th< 


you  II 


it 

LD- 


th  a 

len, 

the 

i  pair  of 


motner, 

Marlow. — "  And  why  not  now,  my  angel  ?  " 

flct  f  I f . 

From  the  drawing  by  Frederick  Simpson  Coburn 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  91 

will  otherwise  suspect  us.  Yours,  Hastings." 
Grant  me  patience:  I  shall  run  distracted!  My 
rage  chokes  me. 

Miss  Nev.  I  hope,  Madam,  you  11  suspend 
your  resentment  for  a  few  moments,  and  not  im- 
pute to  me  any  impertinence,  or  sinister  design, 
that  belongs  to  another. 

Mrs.  Hard.  (Curtseying  very  low.)  Fine  spoken 
Madam,  you  are  most  miraculously  polite  and  en- 
gaging, and  quite  the  very  pink  of  courtesy  and 
circumspection,  Madam.  (Changing  her  tone.) 
And  you,  you  great  ill-fashioned  oaf,  with  scarce 
sense  enough  to  keep  your  mouth  shut:  were  you, 
too,  joined  against  me?  But  I  '11  defeat  all  your 
plots  in  a  moment.  As  for  you,  Madam,  since 
you  have  got  a  pair  of  fresh  horses  ready,  it  would 
be  cruel  to  disappoint  them.  So,  if  you  please, 
instead  of  running  away  with  your  spark,  prepare, 
this  very  moment  to  run  off  with  me.  Your  old 
Aunt  Pedigree  will  keep  you  secure,  1 11  warrant 
me.  You  too,  Sir,  may  mount  your  horse,  and 
guard  us  upon  the  way.  Here,  Thomas,  Roger, 
Diggory!  1 11  show  you,  that  I  wish  you  better 
than  you  do  yourselves.  [Exit 

Miss  Nev.     So  now  I  'm  completely  ruined. 

Tony.     Ay,  that 's  a  sure  thing. 

Miss   Nev.     What   better   could   be   expected 


92  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

from  being  connected  with  such  a  stupid  fool, — 
and  after  all  the  nods  and  signs  I  made  him? 

Tony.  By  the  laws,  Miss,  it  was  your  own  clev- 
erness, and  not  my  stupidity,  that  did  your  busi- 
ness. You  were  so  nice  and  so  busy  with  your 
Shake-bags  and  Goose-greens,  that  I  thought  you 
could  never  be  making  believe. 

Enter  HASTINGS. 

Hast.  So,  Sir,  I  find  by  my  servant,  that  you 
have  shown  my  letter,  and  betrayed  us.  Was 
this  well  done,  young  gentleman? 

Tony.  Here  's  another.  Ask  Miss,  there,  who 
betrayed  you?  Ecod!  it  was  her  doing,  not  mine. 

Enter  MARLOW. 

Marl.  So  I  have  been  finely  used  here  among 
you.  Rendered  contemptible,  driven  into  ill- 
manners,  despised,  insulted,  laughed  at. 

Tony.  Here 's  another.  We  shall  have  old 
Bedlam  broke  loose  presently. 

Miss  Nev.  And  there,  Sir,  is  the  gentleman  to 
whom  we  all  owe  every  obligation. 

Marl.  What  can  I  say  to  him,  a  mere  boy,  an 
idiot,  whose  ignorance  and  age  are  a  protection  ? 

Hast.  A  poor  contemptible  booby,  that  would 
but  disgrace  correction. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  93 

Miss  Nev.  Yet  with  cunning  and  malice  enough 
to  make  himself  merry  with  all  our  embarrassments. 

Hast.    An  insensible  cub. 

Marl.     Replete  with  tricks  and  mischief. 

Tony.  Baw!  damme,  but  I  '11  fight  you  both, 
one  after  the  other with  baskets. 

Marl.    As  for  him,  he  's  below  resentment.  But 
your  conduct,  Mr.  Hastings,  requires  an  explana- 
tion.    You  knew  of  my  mistakes,  yet  would  not 
undeceive  me. 

Hast.  Tortured  as  I  am  with  my  own  disap- 
pointments, is  this  a  time  for  explanations?  It 
is  not  friendly,  Mr.  Marlow. 

Marl.     But,  Sir 

Miss  Nev.  Mr.  Marlow,  we  never  kept  on  your 
mistake,  till  it  was  too  late  to  undeceive  you.  Be 
pacified. 

Enter  Servant. 

Seru.  My  mistress  desires  you  11  get  ready 
immediately,  Madam.  The  horses  are  putting  to. 
Your  hat  and  things  are  in  the  next  room.  We 
are  to  go  thirty  miles  before  morning. 

[Exit  Servant. 

Miss  Nev.     Well,  well:  1 11  come  presently. 

Marl.  (To  HASTINGS.)  Was  it  well  done,  Sir, 
to  assist  in  rendering  me  ridiculous?  To  hang  me 


94  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

out  for  the  scorn  of  all  my  acquaintance?  De- 
pend upon  it,  Sir,  I  shall  expect  an  explanation. 

Hast.  Was  it  well  done,  Sir,  if  you  're  upon 
that  subject,  to  deliver  what  I  entrusted  to  your- 
self, to  the  care  of  another,  Sir? 

Miss  Nev.  Mr.  Hastings!  Mr.  Marlow!  Why 
will  you  increase  my  distress  by  this  groundless 
dispute?  I  implore,  I  entreat  you 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Your  cloak,  Madam.  My  mistress  is 
impatient.  [Exit  Servant. 

Miss  Nev.  I  come.  Pray  be  pacified.  If  I 
leave  you  thus,  I  shall  die  with  apprehension. 

Enter  Servant. 

Serv.  Your  fan,  muff,  and  gloves,  Madam. 
The  horses  are  waiting. 

Miss  Nev.  O,  Mr.  Marlow,  if  you  knew  what 
a  scene  of  constraint  and  ill-nature  lies  before  me, 
I  am  sure  it  would  convert  your  resentment  into 
pity. 

Marl.  I  'm  so  distracted  with  a  variety  of  pas- 
sions, that  I  don't  know  what  I  do.  Forgive  me, 
Madam.  George,  forgive  me.  You  know  my 
hasty  temper,  and  should  not  exasperate  it. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  95 

Hast.  The  torture  of  my  situation  is  my  only 
excuse. 

Miss  Nev.  Well,  my  dear  Hastings,  if  you 
have  that  esteem  for  me  that  I  think, — that  I  am 
sure  you  have,  your  constancy  for  three  years  will 
but  increase  the  happiness  of  our  future  connec- 
tion. If 

Mrs.    Hard.     (Within.)     Miss    Neville.     Con- 
stance, why,  Constance,  I  say. 

Miss  Nev.  I  'm  coming.  Well,  constancy, 
remember,  constancy  is  the  word.  [Exit. 

Hast.  My  heart!  how  can  I  support  this?  To 
be  so  near  happiness,  and  such  happiness! 

Marl.  (To  TONY.)  You  see  now,  young  gen- 
tleman, the  effects  of  your  folly.  What  might  be 
amusement  to  you,  is  here  disappointment,  and 
even  distress. 

Tony.  (From  a  reverie.)  Ecod!  I  have  hit  it: 
it 's  here.  Your  hands.  Yours  and  yours,  my 
poor  Sulky. — My  boots  there,  ho! — Meet  me  two 
hours  hence  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden;  and  if 
you  don't  find  Tony  Lumpkin  a  more  good- 
natured  fellow  than  you  thought  for,  I  '11  give  you 
leave  to  take  my  best  horse,  and  Bet  Bouncer  into 
the  bargain.  Come  along.  My  boots,  ho! 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  THE  FIFTH 

(SCENE  continued.) 
Enter  HASTINGS  and  Servant. 

Hast.  You  saw  the  old  lady  and  Miss  Neville 
you  say? 

Serv.  Yes,  your  honour.  They  went  off  in  a 
post-coach,  and  the  young  Squire  went  on  horse- 
back. They  're  thirty  miles  off  by  this  time. 

Hast.    Then  all  my  hopes  are  over. 

Serv.  Yes,  Sir.  Old  Sir  Charles  is  arrived. 
He  and  the  old  gentleman  of  the  house  have  been 
laughing  at  Mr.  Marlow's  mistake  this  half  hour. 
They  are  coming  this  way. 

Hast.  Then  I  must  not  be  seen.  So  now  to 
my  fruitless  appointment  at  the  bottom  of  the 
garden.  This  is  about  the  time.  [Exit. 

Enter  SIR  CHARLES  and  HARDCASTLE. 

Hard.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  The  peremptory  tone  in 
which  he  sent  forth  his  sublime  commands! 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  97 

Sir  Chas.  And  the  reserve  with  which  I  suppose 
he  treated  all  your  advances. 

Hard.  And  yet  he  might  have  seen  something 
in  me  above  a  common  innkeeper,  too. 

Sir  Chas.  Yes,  Dick,  but  he  mistook  you  for 
an  uncommon  innkeeper;  ha!  ha!  ha! 

Hard.  Well,  I  'm  in  too  good  spirits  to  think 
of  any  thing  but  joy.  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  this 
union  of  our  families  will  make  our  personal  friend- 
ships hereditary,  and  though  my  daughter's 
fortune  is  but  small 

Sir  Chas.  Why,  Dick,  will  you  talk  of  fortune 
to  me?  My  son  is  possessed  of  more  than  a  com- 
petence already,  and  can  want  nothing  but  a  good 
and  virtuous  girl  to  share  his  happiness,  and  in- 
crease it.  If  they  like  each  other,  as  they  say 
they  do 

Hard.  If,  man!  I  tell  you  they  do  like  each 
other.  My  daughter  as  good  as  told  me  so. 

Sir  Chas.  But  girls  are  apt  to  flatter  themselves, 
you  know. 

Hard.  I  saw  him  grasp  her  hand  in  the  warmest 
manner  myself;  and  here  he  comes  to  put  you  out 
of  your  ifs,  I  warrant  him. 

Enter  MARLOW. 
Marl.     I  come,  Sir,  once  more,  to  ask  pardon  for 


98  ©be  Stoops  to  Conquer 

my  strange  conduct.  I  can  scarce  reflect  on  my 
insolence  without  confusion. 

Hard.  Tut,  boy,  trifle.  You  take  it  too  gravely. 
An  hour  or  two's  laughing  with  my  daughter  will 
set  it  all  to  rights  again.  She  '11  never  like  you 
the  worse  for  it. 

Marl.  Sir,  I  shall  be  always  proud  of  her 
approbation. 

Hard.  Approbation  is  but  a  cold  word,  Mr. 
Mario w;  if  I  am  not  deceived,  you  have  something 
more  than  approbation  thereabouts.  You  take 
me? 

Marl.     Really,  Sir,  I  have  not  that  happiness. 

Hard.  Come,  boy,  I  'm  an  old  fellow,  and  know 
what 's  what  as  well  as  you  that  are  younger.  I 
know  what  has  passed  between  you;  but  mum. 

Marl.  Sure,  Sir,  nothing  has  passed  between  us 
but  the  most  profound  respect  on  my  side,  and  the 
most  distant  reserve  on  hers.  You  don't  think, 
Sir,  that  my  impudence  has  been  passed  upon  all 
the  rest  of  the  family? 

Hard.  Impudence!  No,  I  don't  say  that — 
not  quite  impudence — though  girls  like  to  be 
played  with,  and  rumpled  a  little,  too,  sometimes. 
But  she  has  told  no  tales,  I  assure  you. 

Marl.     I  never  gave  her  the  slightest  cause. 

Hard.     Well,  well,  I  like  modesty  in  its  place  well 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  99 

enough.  But  this  is  over-acting,  young  gentle- 
man. You  may  be  open.  Your  father  and  I  will 
like  you  the  better  for  it. 

Marl.     May  I  die,  Sir,  if  I  ever 

Hard.  I  tell  you,  she  don't  dislike  you;  and 
as  I  'm  sure  you  like  her 

Marl.    Dear  Sir — I  protest,  Sir 

Hard.  I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  not  be 
joined  as  fast  as  the  parson  can  tie  you. 

Marl.     But  hear  me,  Sir 

Hard.  Your  father  approves  the  match,  I  ad- 
mire it;  every  moment's  delay  will  be  doing  mis- 
chief, so 

Marl.  But  why  won't  you  hear  me?  By  all 's 
just  and  true,  I  never  gave  Miss  Hardcastle  the 
slightest  mark  of  my  attachment,  or  even  the  most 
distant  hint  to  suspect  me  of  affection.  We  had 
but  one  interview,  and  that  was  formal,  modest, 
and  uninteresting. 

Hard.  (Aside.)  This  fellow's  formal  modest 
impudence  is  beyond  bearing. 

Sir  Chas.  And  you  never  grasped  her  hand  or 
made  any  protestations  ? 

Marl.  As  Heaven  is  my  witness,  I  came  down 
in  obedience  to  your  commands;  I  saw  the  lady 
without  emotion,  and  parted  without  reluctance.  I 
hope  you  '11  exact  no  farther  proofs  of  my  duty, 


ioo          gbe  Stoopa  to  Conquer 

nor  prevent  me  from  leaving  a  house  in  which  I 
suffer  so  many  mortifications.  [Exit. 

Sir  Chas.  I  'm  astonished  at  the  air  of  sincerity 
with  which  he  parted. 

Hard.  And  I  'm  astonished  at  the  deliberate 
intrepidity  of  his  assurance. 

Sir  Chas.  I  dare  pledge  my  life  and  honour 
upon  his  truth. 

Hard.  Here  comes  my  daughter,  and  I  would 
stake  my  happiness  upon  her  veracity. 

Enter  Miss  HARDCASTLE. 

Hard.  Kate,  come  hither,  child.  Answer  us 
sincerely  and  without  reserve:  has  Mr.  Marlow 
made  you  any  professions  of  love  and  affection  ? 

Miss  Hard.  The  question  is  very  abrupt,  Sir! 
But  since  you  require  unreserved  sincerity,  I  think 
he  has. 

Hard.     (To  SIR  CHARLES.)     You  see. 

Sir  Chas.  And  pray,  Madam,  have  you  and  my 
son  had  more  than  one  interview? 

Miss  Hard.    Yes,  Sir,  several. 

Hard.     (To  SIR  CHARLES.)     You  see. 

Sir  Chas.  But  did  he  profess  any  attach- 
ment? 

Miss  Hard.    A  lasting  one. 

Sir  Chas.     Did  he  talk  of  love? 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  101 

Miss  Hard.     Much,  Sir. 

Sir  Chas.     Amazing!     And  all  this  formally? 

Miss  Hard.     Formally. 

Hard.  Now,  my  friend,  I  hope  you  are 
satisfied. 

Sir  Chas.    And  how  did  he  behave,  Madam? 

Miss  Hard.  As  most  professed  admirers  do :  said 
some  civil  things  of  my  face;  talked  much  of  his 
want  of  merit,  and  the  greatness  of  mine;  men- 
tioned his  heart,  gave  a  short  tragedy  speech,  and 
ended  with  pretended  rapture. 

Sir  Chas.  Now  I  'm  perfectly  convinced  in- 
deed, I  know  his  conversation  among  women 
to  be  modest  and  submissive:  this  forward  cant- 
ing ranting  manner  by  no  means  describes  him; 
and,  I  am  confident,  he  never  sat  for  the  picture. 

Miss  Hard.  Then,  what,  Sir,  if  I  should  con- 
vince you  to  your  face  of  my  sincerity?  If  you 
and  my  papa,  in  about  half  an  hour,  will  place 
yourselves  behind  that  screen,  you  shall  hear 
him  declare  his  passion  to  me  in  person. 

Sir  Chas.  Agreed.  And  if  I  find  him  what 
you  describe,  all  my  happiness  in  him  must  have 
an  end.  [Exit. 

Miss  Hard.  And  if  you  don't  find  him  what 
I  describe — I  fear  my  happiness  must  never  have 
a  beginning.  [Exeunt. 


102  sfoe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

SCENE  changes  to  the  back  of  the  garden. 
Enter  HASTINGS. 

Hast.  What  an  idiot  am  I,  to  wait  here  for  a 
fellow  who  probably  takes  a  delight  in  mortifying 
me.  He  never  intended  to  be  punctual,  and  I  11 
wait  no  longer.  What  do  I  see?  It  is  he!  and 
perhaps  with  news  of  my  Constance. 

Enter  TONY,  booted  and  spattered. 

Hast.  My  honest  Squire!  I  now  find  you  a 
man  of  your  word.  This  looks  like  friendship. 

Tony.  Ay,  I  'm  your  friend,  and  the  best  friend 
you  have  in  the  world,  if  you  knew  but  all.  This 
riding  by  night,  by  the  bye,  is  cursedly  tiresome. 
It  has  shook  me  worse  than  the  basket  of  a  stage- 
coach. 

Hast.  But  how?  where  did  you  leave  your 
fellow-travellers?  Are  they  in  safety?  Are  they 
housed? 

Tony.  Five-and-twenty  miles  in  two  hours  and 
a  half  is  no  such  bad  driving.  The  poor  beasts 
have  smoked  for  it:  Rabbit  me,  but  I  'd  rather 
ride  forty  miles  after  a  fox  than  ten  with  such 
varment. 

Hast.  Well,  but  where  have  you  left  the  ladies? 
I  die  with  impatience. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  103 

Tony.  Left  them!  Why  where  should  I  leave 
them  but  where  I  found  them  ? 

Hast.     This  is  a  riddle. 

Tony.  Riddle  me  this  then.  What 's  that 
goes  round  the  house,  and  round  the  house,  and 
never  touches  the  house? 

Hast.     I  'm  still  astray. 

Tony.  Why,  that 's  it,  mon.  I  have  led  them 
astray.  By  jingo,  there  's  not  a  pond  or  a  slough 
within  five  miles  of  the  place  but  they  can  tell  the 
taste  of. 

Hast.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  I  understand:  you  took 
them  in  a  round,  while  they  supposed  themselves 
going  forward.  And  so  you  have  at  last  brought 
them  home  again. 

Tony.  You  shall  hear.  I  first  took  them  down 
Feather-bed  Lane,  where  we  stuck  fast  in  the  mud. 
I  then  rattled  them  crack  over  the  stones  of  Up- 
and-Down  Hill.  I  then  introuduced  them  to  the 
gibbet  on  Heavy-tree  Heath;  and  from  that,  with 
a  circumbendibus  I  fairly  lodged  them  in  the  horse- 
pond  at  the  bottom  of  the  garden. 

Hast.     But  no  accident,  I  hope? 

Tony.  No,  no,  only  mother  is  confoundedly 
frightened.  She  thinks  herself  forty  miles  off. 
She  's  sick  of  the  journey;  and  the  cattle  can  scarce 
crawl.  So  if  your  horses  be  ready,  you  may  whip 


104  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

off  with  cousin,  and  I  '11  be  bound  that  no  soul  here 
can  budge  a  foot  to  follow  you. 

Hast.     My  dear  friend,  how  can  I  be  grateful? 

Tony.  Ay,  now  it 's  dear  friend,  noble  Squire. 
Just  now,  it  was  all  idiot,  cub,  and  run  me  through 
the  guts.  Damn  your  way  of  fighting,  I  say. 
After  we  take  a  knock  in  this  part  of  the  country, 
we  kiss  and  be  friends.  But  if  you  had  run  me 
through  the  guts,  then  I  should  be  dead,  and  you 
might  go  kiss  the  hangman. 

Hast.  The  rebuke  is  just.  But  I  must  hasten 
to  relieve  Miss  Neville:  if  you  keep  the  old  lady  em- 
ployed, I  promise  to  take  care  of  the  young  one. 

[Exit  HASTINGS. 

Tony.  Never  fear  me.  Here  she  comes.  Van- 
ish! She  's  got  from  the  pond,  and  draggled  up 
to  the  waist  like  a  mermaid. 

Enter  MRS.  HARDCASTLE. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Oh,  Tony,  I  'm  killed!  Shook! 
Battered  to  death.  I  shall  never  survive  it.  That 
last  jolt,  that  laid  us  against  the  quickset  hedge, 
has  done  my  business. 

Tony.  Alack,  Mamma,  it  was  all  your  own 
fault.  You  would  be  for  running  away  by  night, 
without  knowing  one  inch  of  the  way. 

Mrs.  Hard.     I  wish  we  were  at  home  again.     I 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  105 

never  met  so  many  accidents  in  so  short  a  journey. 
Drenched  in  the  mud,  overturned  in  a  ditch,  stuck 
fast  in  a  slough,  jolted  to  a  jelly,  and  at  last  to  lose 
our  way.  Whereabouts  do  you  think  we  are, 
Tony? 

Tony.  By  my  guess  we  should  come  upon 
Crackskull  Common,  about  forty  miles  from 
home. 

Mrs.  Hard.  0  lud!  O  lud!  The  most  notorious 
spot  in  all  the  country.  We  only  want  a  robbery 
to  make  a  complete  night  on  't. 

Tony.  Don't  be  afraid,  Mamma,  don't  be 
afraid.  Two  of  the  five  that  kept  here  are  hanged, 
and  the  other  three  may  not  find  us.  Don't  be 
afraid. — Is  that  a  man  that 's  galloping  behind  us? 
No;  it 's  only  a  tree. — Don't  be  afraid. 

Mrs.  Hard.     The  fright  will  certainly  kill  me. 

Tony.  Do  you  see  anything  like  a  black  hat 
moving  behind  the  thicket  ? 

Mrs.  Hard.     Oh,  death! 

Tony.  No;  it 's  only  a  cow.  Don't  be  afraid, 
Mamma;  don't  be  afraid. 

Mrs.  Hard.  As  I  'm  alive,  Tony,  I  see  a  man 
coming  towards  us.  Ah!  I  'm  sure  on  't.  If  he 
perceives  us  we  are  undone. 

Tony.  (Aside.)  Father-in-law,  by  all  that 's 
unlucky,  come  to  take  one  of  his  night  walks. — 


io6          sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

(To  her.)     Ah!  it 's  a  highwayman  with  pistols  as 
long  as  my  arm.     A  damn'd  ill-looking  fellow. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Good  Heaven  defend  us!  He 
approaches. 

Tony.      Do  you  hide  yourself  in  that  thicket, 
and  leave  me  to  manage  him.     If  there  be  any 
danger,  1 11  cough,  and  cry  hem.     When  I  cough, 
be  sure  to  keep  close. 
[MRS.  HARDCASTLE  hides  behind  a  tree  In  the  back 

scene. 
Enter  HARDCASTLE. 

Hard.  I'm  mistaken,  or  I  heard  voices  of  people 
in  want  of  help.  Oh,  Tony !  is  that  you  ?  I  did  not 
expect  you  so  soon  back.  Are  your  mother  and 
her  charge  in  safety? 

Tony.  Very  safe,  Sir,  at  my  Aunt  Pedigree's. 
Hem. 

Mrs.  Hard.  (From  behind.)  Ah,  death!  I 
find  there  's  danger. 

Hard.  Forty  miles  in  three  hours;  sure  that's 
too  much,  my  youngster. 

Tony.  Stout  horses  and  willing  minds  make 
short  journeys,  as  they  say.  Hem. 

Mrs.  Hard.  (From  behind.)  Sure  he'll  do  the 
dear  boy  no  harm. 

Hard.  But  I  heard  a  voice  here;  I  should  be 
glad  to  know  from  whence  it  came. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  107 

Tony.  It  was  I,  Sir,  talking  to  myself,  Sir.  I 
was  saying  that  forty  miles  in  four  hours  was 
very  good  going.  Hem.  As  to  be  sure  it  was. 
Hem.  I  have  got  a  sort  of  cold  by  going  out  in 
the  air.  Well  go  in,  if  you  please.  Hem. 

Hard.  But  if  you  talked  to  yourself  you  did  not 
answer  yourself.  I'm  certain  I  heard  two  voices, 
and  am  resolved  (raising  his  voice)  to  find  the 
other  out. 

Mrs.  Hard.  (From  behind.)  Oh!  he  's  coming 
to  find  me  out.  Oh! 

Tony.  What  need  you  go,  Sir,  if  I  tell  you? 
Hem.  I  11  lay  down  my  life  for  the  truth — hem — 
I  11  tell  you  all,  Sir.  (Detaining  him.) 

Hard.  I  tell  you  I  will  not  be  detained.  I  in- 
sist on  seeing.  It 's  in  vain  to  expect  I  '11  believe 
you. 

Mrs.  Hard.  (Running  forward  from  behind.) 
O  lud!  he  11  murder  my  poor  boy,  my  darling! 
Here,  good  gentleman,  whet  your  rage  upon  me. 
Take  my  money,  my  life,  but  spare  that  young 
gentleman;  spare  my  child,  if  you  have  any  mercy. 

Hard.  My  wife,  as  I  'm  a  Christian.  From 
whence  can  she  come?  or  what  does  she  mean? 

Mrs.  Hard.  (Kneeling.)  Take  compassion  on 
us,  good  Mr.  Highwayman.  Take  our  money, 
our  watches,  all  we  have,  but  spare  our  lives.  We 


io8  gbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

will  never  bring  you  to  justice;  indeed  we  won't, 
good  Mr.  Highwayman. 

Hard.  I  believe  the  woman  's  out  of  her  senses. 
What!  Dorothy,  don  't  you  know  me? 

Mrs.  Hard.  Mr.  Hardcastle,  as  I  'm  alive!  My 
fears  blinded  me.  But  who,  my  dear,  could  have 
expected  to  meet  you  here,  in  this  frightful  place, 
so  far  from  home?  What  has  brought  you  to 
follow  us? 

Hard.  Sure,  Dorothy,  you  have  not  lost  your 
wits?  So  far  from  home,  when  ,you  are  within 
forty  yards  of  your  own  door! — (To  him.) 
This  is  one  of  your  old  tricks,  you  graceless  rogue, 
you. — (To  her.)  Don't  you  know  the  gate  and 
the  mulberry-tree;  and  don't  you  remember  the 
horse-pond,  my  dear? 

Mrs.  Hard.  Yes,  I  shall  remember  the  horse- 
pond  as  long  as  I  live;  I  have  caught  my  death  in 
it. — (To  TONY.)  And  is  it  to  you,  you  graceless 
varlet,  I  owe  all  this  ?  1 11  teach  you  to  abuse  your 
mother,  I  will. 

Tony.  Ecod,  mother,  all  the  parish  says  you 
have  spoiled  me,  and  so  you  may  take  the  fruits 
on't. 

Mrs.  Hard.    I  '11  spoil  you,  I  will. 

[Follows  him  off  the  stage.    Exit. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer          109 

Hard.     There  's  morality,  however,  in  his  reply. 

[Exit. 

Enter  HASTINGS  and  Miss  NEVILLE. 

Hast.  My  dear  Constance,  why  will  you  delib- 
erate thus?  If  we  delay  a  moment,  all  is  lost  for 
ever.  Pluck  up  a  little  resolution,  and  we  shall 
soon  be  out  of  the  reach  of  her  malignity. 

Miss  Nev.  I  find  it  impossible.  My  spirits  are 
so  sunk  with  the  agitations  I  have  suffered,  that  I 
am  unable  to  face  any  new  danger.  Two  or  three 
years'  patience  will  at  last  crown  us  with  happiness. 

Hast.  Such  a  tedious  delay  is  worse  than  in- 
constancy. Let  us  fly,  my  charmer.  Let  us  date 
our  happiness  from  this  very  moment.  Perish 
fortune!  Love  and  content  will  increase  what  we 
possess  beyond  a  monarch's  revenue.  Let  me 
prevail! 

Miss  Nev.  No,  Mr,  Hastings,  no.  Prudence 
once  more  comes  to  my  relief,  and  I  will  obey  its 
dictates.  In  the  moment  of  passion,  fortune  may 
be  despised,  but  it  ever  produces  a  lasting  repent- 
ance. I  'm  resolved  to  apply  to  Mr.  Hardcastle's 
compassion  and  justice  for  redress. 

Hast.  But  though  he  had  the  will,  he  has  not 
the  power  to  relieve  you. 


i 10  sfoe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Miss  Nev.  But  he  has  influence,  and  upon  that 
I  am  resolved  to  rely. 

Hast.  I  have  no  hopes.  But  since  you  persist, 
I  must  reluctantly  obey  you.  [Exeunt. 

SCENE  changes. 
Enter  SIR  CHARLES  and  Miss  HARDCASTLB. 

Sir  Chas.  What  a  situation  am  I  in!  If  what 
you  say  appears,  I  shall  then  find  a  guilty  son.  If 
what  he  says  be  true,  I  shall  then  lose  one  that,  of 
all  others,  I  most  wished  for  a  daughter. 

Miss  Hard.  I  am  proud  of  your  approbation; 
and  to  show  I  merit  it,  if  you  place  yourselves  as 
I  directed,  you  shall  hear  his  explicit  declaration. 
But  he  comes. 

Sir  Chas.  I  '11  to  your  father,  and  keep  him  to 
the  appointment.  [Exit  SIR  CHARLES. 

Enter  MARLOW. 

Marl.  Though  prepared  for  setting  out,  I  come 
once  more  to  take  leave;  nor  did  I,  till  this  mo- 
ment, know  the  pain  I  feel  in  the  separation. 

Miss  Hard.  (In  her  own  natural  manner.)  I 
believe  these  sufferings  cannot  be  very  great,  Sir, 
which  you  can  so  easily  remove.  A  day  or  two 
longer  perhaps,  might  lessen  your  uneasiness,  by 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  1 1 1 

showing  the  little  value  of  what  you  now  think 
proper  to  regret. 

Marl.  (Aside.)  This  girl  every  moment  im- 
proves upon  me. — (To  her.)  It  must  not  be, 
Madam.  I  have  already  trifled  too  long  with  my 
heart.  My  very  pride  begins  to  submit  to  my 
passion.  The  disparity  of  education  and  fortune, 
the  anger  of  a  parent,  and  the  contempt  of  my 
equals,  begin  to  lose  their  weight;  and  nothing 
can  restore  me  to  myself  but  this  painful  effort  of 
resolution. 

Miss  Hard.  Then  go,  Sir:  I  '11  urge  nothing 
more  to  detain  you.  Though  my  family  be  as 
good  as  hers  you  come  down  to  visit,  and  my  edu- 
cation, I  hope,  not  inferior,  what  are  these 
advantages  without  equal  affluence.  I  must  re- 
main contented  with  the  slight  approbation  of  im- 
puted merit;  I  must  have  only  the  mockery  of 
your  addresses,  while  all  your  serious  aims  are 
fixed  on  fortune. 

Enter  HARDCASTLE  and  SIR  CHARLES,  from  behind.    <^ 

Sir.  Chas.     Here,  behind  this  screen. 

Hard.  Ay,  ay;  make  no  noise.  I  '11  engage  my 
Kate  covers  him  with  confusion  at  last. 

Marl.  By  heavens,  Madam!  fortune  was  ever 
my  smallest  consideration.  Your  beauty  at  first 


112 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 


caught  my  eye;  for  who  could  see  that  without 
emotion?  But  every  moment  that  I  converse 
with  you,  steals  in  some  new  grace,  heightens  the 
picture,  and  gives  it  stronger  expression.  What 
at  first  seemed  rustic  plainness,  now  appears  re- 
fined simplicity.  What  seemed  forward  assurance, 
now  strikes  me  as  the  result  of  courageous  inno- 
cence and  conscious  virtue. 

Sir  Chas.     What  can  it  mean?    He  amazes  me! 

Hard.     I  told  you  how  it  would  be.     Hush! 

Marl.  I  am  now  determined  to  stay,  Madam, 
and  I  have  too  good  an  opinion  of  my  father's 
discernment,  when  he  sees  you,  to  doubt  his 
approbation. 

Miss  Hard.  No,  Mr.  Marlow,  I  will  not,  cannot 
detain  you.  Do  you  think  I  could  suffer  a  con- 
nection in  which  there  is  the  smallest  room  for 
repentance?  Do  you  think  I  would  take  the  mean 
advantage  of  a  transient  passion,  to  load  you  with 
confusion?  Do  you  think  I  could  ever  relish 
that  happiness  which  was  acquired  by  lessening 
yours? 

Marl.  By  all  that 's  good,  I  can  have  no  hap- 
piness but  what 's  in  your  power  to  grant  me! 
Nor  shall  I  ever  feel  repentance  but  in  not  having 
seen  your  merits  before.  I  will  stay  even  contrary 
to  your  wishes;  and  though  you  should  persist  to 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  1 1 3 

shun  me,  I  will  make  my  respectful  assiduities 
atone  for  the  levity  of  my  past  conduct. 

Miss  Hard.  Sir,  I  must  entreat  you  '11  desist. 
As  our  acquaintance  began,  so  let  it  end,  in  indif- 
ference. I  might  have  given  an  hour  or  two  of 
levity;  but  seriously,  Mr.  Marlow,  do  you  think  I 
could  ever  submit  to  a  connection  where  I  must 
appear  mercenary,  and  you  imprudent?  Do  you 
think  I  could  ever  catch  at  the  confident  addresses 
of  a  secure  admirer? 

Marl.  (Kneeling.)  Does  this  look  like  security? 
Does  this  look  like  confidence  ?  No,  Madam,  every 
moment  that  shows  me  your  merit,  only  serves  to 
increase  my  diffidence  and  confusion.  Here  let 
me  continue 

Sir  Chas.  I  can  hold  it  no  longer.  Charles, 
Charles,  how  hast  thou  deceived  me!  Is  this  your 
indifference,  your  uninteresting  conversation? 

Hard.  Your  cold  contempt;  your  formal  inter- 
view! What  have  you  to  say  now? 

Marl.  That  I  'm  all  amazement!  What  can 
it  mean? 

Hard.  It  means  that  you  can  say  and  unsay 
things  at  pleasure:  that  you  can  address  a  lady  in 
private,  and  deny  it  in  public:  that  you  have  one 
story  for  us,  and  another  for  my  daughter. 

Marl.    Daughter! — This  lady  your  daughter? 


1 14  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Hard.  Yes,  Sir,  my  only  daughter;  my  Kate; 
whose  else  should  she  be? 

Marl.     Oh,  the  devil! 

Miss  Hard.  Yes,  Sir,  that  very  identical  tall 
squinting  lady,  you  were  pleased  to  take  me  for 
(courtesying) ;  she  that  you  addressed  as  the  mild, 
modest,  sentimental  man  of  gravity,  and  the  bold, 
forward,  agreeable  Rattle  of  the  Ladies'  Club. 
Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Marl.  Zounds!  there  's  no  bearing  this;  it 's 
worse  than  death! 

Miss  Hard.  In  which  of  your  characters,  Sir, 
will  you  give  us  leave  to  address  you?  As  the  fal- 
tering gentleman,  with  look  on  the  ground,  that 
speaks  just  to  be  heard,  and  hates  hypocrisy;  or 
the  loud,  confident  creature,  that  keeps  it  up  with 
Mrs.  Mantrap,  and  old  Miss  Biddy  Buckskin,  till 
three  in  the  morning? — Ha!  ha!  ha! 

Marl.  O,  curse  on  my  noisy  head:  I  never  at- 
tempted to  be  impudent  yet,  that  I  was  not  taken 
down!  I  must  be  gone. 

Hard.    By  the  hand  of  my  body,  but  you  shall 
(not.     I  see  it  was  all  a  mistake,  and  I  am  rejoiced 
to  find  it.     You  shall  not,  Sir,  I  tell  you.     I  know 
she  '11  forgive  you.     Won't  you  forgive  him,  Kate? 
We  '11  all  forgive  you.    Take  courage,  man. 

[They  retire,  she  tormenting  him,  to  the  back  scene. 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  1 15 

Enter  MRS.  HARDCASTLE,  TONY. 

Mrs.  Hard.  So,  so,  they  're  gone  off.  Let  them 
go,  I  care  not. 

Hard.     Who  gone? 

Mrs.  Hard.  My  dutiful  niece  and  her  gentle- 
man, Mr.  Hastings,  from  town.  He  who  came 
down  with  our  modest  visitor  here. 

Sir  Chas.  Who,  my  honest  George  Hastings? 
As  worthy  a  fellow  as  lives,  and  the  girl  could  not 
have  made  a  more  prudent  choice. 

Hard.  Then,  by  the  hand  of  my  body,  I  'm 
proud  of  the  connection. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Well,  if  he  has  taken  away  the  lady, 
he  has  not  taken  her  fortune;  that  remains  in  this 
family  to  console  us  for  her  loss. 

Hard..  Sure,  Dorothy,  you  would  not  be  so 
mercenary? 

Mrs.  Hard.    Ay,  that 's  my  affair,  not  yours. 

Hard.  But  you  know  if  your  son,  when  of  age, 
refuses  to  marry  his  cousin,  her  whole  fortune  is 
then  at  her  own  disposal. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Ay,  but  he  's  not  of  age,  and  she 
has  not  thought  proper  to  wait  for  his  refusal. 

Enter  HASTINGS  and  Miss  NEVILLB. 

Mrs.  Hard.  (Aside.)  What,  returned  so  soon! 
I  begin  not  to  like  it. 


1 1 6  gfoe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

Hast.  (To  HARDCASTLE.)  For  my  late  attempt 
to  fly  off  with  your  niece,  let  my  present  confusion 
be  my  punishment.  We  are  now  come  back,  to 
appeal  from  your  justice  to  your  humanity.  By 
her  father's  consent  I  first  paid  her  my  addresses, 
and  our  passions  were  first  founded  in  duty. 

Miss  Nev.  Since  his  death,  I  have  been  obliged 
to  stoop  to  dissimulation  to  avoid  oppression.  In 
an  hour  of  levity,  I  was  ready  to  give  up  my  for- 
tune to  secure  my  choice:  but  I  am  now  recovered 
from  the  delusion,  and  hope  from  your  tenderness 
what  is  denied  me  from  a  nearer  connection. 

Mrs.  Hard.  Pshaw,  pshaw!  this  is  all  but  the 
whining  end  of  a  modern  novel. 

Hard.  Be  it  what  it  will,  I  'm  glad  they  're 
come  back  to  reclaim  their  due.  Come  hither, 
Tony,  boy.  Do  you  refuse  this  lady's  hand  whom 
I  now  offer  you? 

Tony.  What  signifies  my  refusing?  You  know 
I  can't  refuse  her  till  I  'm  of  age,  father. 

Hard.  While  I  thought  concealing  your  age, 
boy,  was  likely  to  conduce  to  your  improvement, 
I  concurred  with  your  mother's  desire  to  keep  it 
secret.  But  since  I  find  she  turns  it  to  a  wrong 
use,  I  must  now  declare  you  have  been  of  age  these 
three  months. 

Tony.    Of  age!    Am  I  of  age,  father? 


Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer  1 1 7 

Hard.    Above  three  months. 

Tony.  Then  you  '11  see  the  first  use  I  '11  make 
of  my  liberty.  (Taking  Miss  NEVILLE'S  hand.) 
Witness  all  men  by  these  presents,  that  I,  Anthony 
Lumpkin,  Esquire,  of  blank  place,  refuse  you, 
Constantia  Neville,  spinster,  of  no  place  at  all,  for 
my  true  and  lawful  wife.  So  Constance  Neville 
may  marry  whom  she  pleases,  and  Tony  Lumpkin 
is  his  own  man  again. 

Sir  Chas.     O  brave  Squire! 

Hast.     My  worthy  friend! 

Mrs.  Hard.     My  undutiful  offspring! 

Marl.  Joy,  my  dear  George,  I  give  you  joy 
sincerely.  And  could  I  prevail  upon  my  little 
tyrant  here  to  be  less  arbitrary,  I  should  be  the 
happiest  man  alive,  if  you  would  return  me  the 
favour. 

Hast.  (To  Miss  HARDCASTLE.)  Come,  Madam, 
you  are  now  driven  to  the  very  last  scene  of  all 
your  contrivances.  I  know  you  like  him,  I  'm 
sure  he  loves  you,  and  you  must  and  shall  have 
him. 

Hard.  (Joining  their  hands.)  And  I  say  so  too. 
And,  Mr.  Marlow,  if  she  makes  as  good  a  wife  as  she 
has  a  daughter,  I  don't  believe  you  '11  ever  repent 
your  bargain.  So  now  to  supper.  To-morrow 
we  shall  gather  all  the  poor  of  the  parish  about  us, 


us  Sbe  Stoops  to  Conquer 

and  the  mistakes  of  the  night  shall  be  crowned 
with  a  merry  morning.  So,  boy,  take  her;  and  as 
you  have  been  mistaken  in  the  mistress,  my  wish  is, 
that  you  may  never  be  mistaken  in  the  wife. 

[Exeunt  Omnes. 


EPILOGUE1 

Spoken  by  Mrs.  Bulkley  in  the  character  of  Miss  HARDCASTLB 

WELL,  having  stooped  to  conquer  with  success, 
And  gain'd  a  husband  without  aid  from  dress, 
Still,  as  a  barmaid,  I  could  wish  it  too, 
As  I  have  conquer'd  him  to  conquer  you: 
And  let  me  say,  for  all  your  resolution, 
That  pretty  barmaids  have  done  execution. 
Qur  life  is  a  play,  composed  to  please, 
"We  have  our  exits  and  our  entrances." 
The  first  act  shows  the  simple  country  maid, 
Harmless  and  young,  of  everything  afraid ; 
Blushes  when  hir'd,  and  with  unmeaning  action, 
11 1  hopes  as  how  to  give  you  satisfaction." 
Her  second  act  displays  a  livelier  scene — 
The  unblushing  barmaid  of  a  country  inn 
Who  whisks  about  the  house,  at  market  caters, 
Talks  loud,  coquets  the  guests,  and  scolds  the  waiters. 

*  Goldsmith  wrote  two  other  Epilogues  to  this  Comedy,  neither 
of  which  however  appear  to  have  been  spoken.  See  Vol.  I.,  pp.  i8a, 
187  and  Vol.  X.,  Letter  xxvi. 

119 


120  Bptlogue 

Next  the  scene  shifts  to  town,  and  there  she  soars. 

The  chop-house  toast  of  ogling  connoisseurs. 

On  'squires  and  cits  she  there  displays  her  arts, 

And  on  the  gridiron  broils  her  lovers'  hearts — 

And  as  she  smiles,  her  triumphs  to  complete, 

E'en  common-councilmen  forget  to  eat. 

The  fourth  act  shows  her  wedded  to  the  'squire, 

And  madam  now  begins  to  hold  it  higher; 

Pretends  to  taste,  at  operas  cries  caro! 

And  quits  her  Nancy  Dawson,  for  Che  Faroj 

Boats  upon  dancing,  and  in  all  her  pride 

Swims  round  the  room,  the  Heinel  of  Cheapside 1  i 

Ogles  and  leers  with  artificial  skill, 

Till,  having  lost  in  age  the  power  to  kill, 

She  sits  all  night  at  cards,  and  ogles  at  spadille. 

Such,  through  our  lives  the  eventful  history — 

The  fifth  and  last  act  still  remains  for  me. 

The  barmaid  now  for  your  protection  prays, 

Turns  female  barrister,  and  pleads  for  Bayes. 2 


»  Madame  Heinel  was  a  favourite  dancer  in  London,  when  this 
Epilogue  was  spoken. 

2  In  the  fourth  volume  of  A  Collection  of  Prologues  and  Epilogues, 
4  vols.,  i2mo,  1779,  there  is  a  characteristic  full-length  portrait 
of  Mrs.  Bulkley  in  the  dress  she  wore  when  she  spoke  this  epilogue. 
Mrs.  Bulkley  (originally  Miss  Wilford)  died  in  1792.  She  was 
famous  as  Lady  Racket. 


EPILOGUE  ' 

To  be  spoken  in  the  character  of  TONY  LUMPKIN 
BY  J.  CRADOCK,  ESQ.  2 

WELL — now  all 's  ended — and  my  comrades  gone, 
Pray  what  becomes  of  "mother's  nonly  son?" 
A  hopeful  blade ! — in  town  I  '11  fix  my  station, 
And  try  to  make  a  bluster  in  the  nation; 
As  for  my  cousin  Neville,  I  renounce  her, 
Off — in  a  crack — I  '11  carry  big  Bet  Bouncer. 

WHY  should  not  I  in  the  great  world  appear? 
I  soon  shall  have  a  thousand  pounds  a  year! 
No  matter  what  a  man  may  here  inherit, 
In  London — 'gad,  they  've  some  regard  to  spirit. 
I  see  the  horses  prancing  up  the  streets, 
And  big  Bet  Bouncer  bobs  to  all  she  meets; 

«  This  came  too  late  to  be  spoken — GOLDSMITH.  See  Gold- 
smith's Letter  to  Cradock,  in  Vol.  X. 

1  Joseph  Cradock,  Esq.,  of  Gumley  in  Leicestershire.  He  was 
among  the  last  survivors  of  Goldsmith's  circle,  and  is  now  favourably 
remembered  by  his  Memoirs,  5  vols.  8vo,  1828.  He  died, 
Dec.  15,  1826,  in  his  8$th  year. 

X2I 


122 

Then  hoiks  to  jigs  and  pastimes  ev'ry  night — 
Not  to  the  plays — they  say  it  a'n't  polite; 
To  Sadler's- Well  perhaps,  or  operas  go, 
And  once  by  chance,  to  the  roratorio. 
Thus  here  and  there,  for  ever  up  and  down, 
We  '11  set  the  fashions  too  to  half  the  town; 
And  then  at  auctions — money  ne'er  regard, 
Buy  pictures  like  the  great,  ten  pounds  a  yard: 
Zounds,  we  shall  make  these  London  gentry  say, 
We  know  what 's  damn'd  genteel  as  well  as  they 


UETUI 


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